"Hey, over here?"
Laila's voice, a soft, melodic call across the tranquil expanse of the Founder's Square, sliced through Matthias's spiraling anxiety. He watched her from the shadows of the dormitory entrance. She was perched on the edge of a weathered, concrete bench, the kind that had probably survived three headmasters. Her head tilted back slightly, catching the luminous glow of the full moon—a magnificent, impossibly large super moon tonight. She played absently with a strand of her dark hair, wrapping it around her finger with a casual grace that seemed utterly devastating to Matthias's nervous system.
He gulped, a dry, loud sound in the sudden silence of the evening. This was it. A first. A dream come true, yes, but also the greatest nightmare; a moment he had only mapped out in the theoretical safety of his mind, never expecting the terrifying reality. The air felt thick, charged with potential energy.
"Isha must be enjoying my slow, agonizing humiliation from the comfort of the dark, filming it for posterity," he thought, his jaw clenching. He took a deep, shaky breath, straightened his shoulders—a poor attempt at bravery—and plastered on what he hoped was a friendly, casual smile.
He advanced, the gravel crunching unforgivingly beneath his shoes, each step a countdown to emotional catastrophe.
"Laila. What's up? I was thinking you might be a no-show ,"
he managed, shrugging with practiced indifference that felt anything but. It was a quick one, a small victory of forced nonchalance.
She smirked, a knowing, beautiful curve of her lips as her eyes remained playfully shut for a beat too long. That simple gesture sent Matthias's heart rate soaring into the red zone.
"You got this, Matt. Genius-level IQ, remember? Just apply some social engineering. Get into the mood." He gave himself the silent, mandatory pep talk.
She finally opened her eyes, their warm, dark color reflecting the moonlight.
"How's your ankle? Still hurting?"
Her voice was immediately laced with genuine concern, a gentle understanding that melted away a layer of his panic.
"Yeah, kinda. Thought it was broken, though. Gave me the chills,"
he replied, scratching the back of his head, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to break. He drew closer, finally entering the intimate, close-range quarter of the bench.
"Be sure to take care of it, Matty. It would be bad if it got hurt more. That Lionel dude… he was such a menace,"
she said, her expression hardening momentarily. "That fella's dangerous, try to avoid him, or you'll be waking up in the hospital next. Seriously."
"Yeah, yeah, of course. Promise, no more balling until further notice. It'll be my top priority now,"
Matthias fibbed, giving a tight, nervous smile that felt more like a grimace. But he was doing it. He was holding a conversation.
Laila smiled back, a soft, reassuring sight. She stamped her left palm lightly on the concrete bench beside her, a clear, silent gesture for him to sit.
Sit? Beside her? That was a social death sentence, a guaranteed short circuit of his already overloaded nervous system.
He struggled internally, then forced a deep, dramatic stretch, leaning heavily on the chair's backrest to fake nonchalance. He took another deep, lung-searing breath and gently lowered his weight onto the seat. He fought the urge to put six feet of space between them.
"Wow, what an evening. You don't see this view every time at the Founder's Square," Laila pronounced, inhaling a deep lungful of the cool, fresh evening breeze.
"You don't say. I… I don't frequent here much," Matthias replied almost too quickly, his eyes momentarily fixed on the glossy movement of her lips as she spoke. 'How tragically succulent,' a very un-genius part of his brain observed.
"A great evening meal at the refectory, and now a gentle breeze under a super moon right here. It almost feels like home,"
she sighed, relaxing her back against the rough concrete.
"I missed the lentil salmon," Matthias confessed, watching her stare up at the moon like—he allowed the thought—a particularly beautiful werewolf contemplating its first transformation. Under the afternoon sun, Laila was a beauty. But with the moonlight hitting her face, illuminating the contours of her cheekbones and the depth of her eyes, she was a goddess. Matthias felt himself almost dropping into a swoon before she recalled his straying senses.
"Yeah, yeah, it was no big deal. Honestly, the salmon tasted like it died of shame and regret six months ago. Must have been hiding in the freezer,"
Laila replied, making a comical, disgusted face.
Matthias managed a quiet chuckle, careful not to overdo the relief. He was scoring points. He was on a high school crush date, and she was volunteering humor.
"But I thought it was quite the meal, wasn't it, Laila?" Matthias called her name, the sound of it strange and wonderful to his own ears. His heart skipped, a violent, unsettling jump in his chest.
"Of course not! I can still taste the stale stench of its awful flavor in my mouth. Sorry, can you check for me if my breath reeks of fish guts?" she asked, leaning toward him with a completely serious expression.
"Huh?"
His mouth fell open slightly. What a request! He froze, unable to process the protocol for this unprecedented social event. Laila gently opened her mouth a little, tilting her head. She pointed a finger toward him, urging him closer.
Matthias's mind screamed for a logical escape route, but his feet and shoulders were already committing. He drew closer. His heart was no longer simply beating; it was a frantic mess of noise and vibration inside his chest cavity. He could feel a faint tremble in his hands as he finally, cautiously, leaned in to sniff.
Angelic! It smelled of strong mint and fresh air, a testament to post-meal oral care.
" Are you seeing this , Isha? Can you see this from your grave ,you clown" Matthias thought to himself happily, imagining what Isha felt at the moment from the shadows where he hid.
"So, does it smell that bad?" she asked, her eyes wide, but a flicker of amusement dancing in them.
"Not at all. In fact, your breath is a minty freshness. Maybe the salmon was salted with mint," he grinned, the relief making him bold. He was sure she knew her breath wasn't reeking of anything unpleasant. Was this a test? A playful move? If so, he passed.
"Oh, shucks. Then why am I having this bad aftertaste?" she wondered, withdrawing her face. Matthias, now closer and more attuned, noticed her cheeks were undeniably flushed red. She was blushing, perhaps from the close proximity, or maybe from the playful charade. God and the angels definitely orchestrated this very day for him. If not ,what could it be?