"Hello and good morning." I whispered to my reflection, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. "Keep your cool; it's just another Monday."
My restlessness wasn't typical Monday blues but stemmed from the anticipation of stepping outside after days of self-imposed isolation. It felt like a teenage rebellion all over again.
Venturing out meant a high probability of encountering the guy next door—the very thought made my heart race, especially given the cringe-worthy mishaps of our first meeting. It's that classic dilemma: yearning to see your crush yet dreading the confrontation due to past awkwardness.
Venturing out meant a high probability of encountering the guy next door—the very thought made my heart race, especially given the cringe-worthy mishaps of our first meeting. It's that classic dilemma: yearning to see your crush yet dreading the confrontation due to past awkwardness.
In the meantime, I channelled my energy into house cleaning, which did little to distract me from thoughts of him. It had been ages since someone had so thoroughly occupied my mind. Caught in daydreams, I pondered over his activities at that very moment.
My friends argued against hiding away, pointing out the inevitability of crossing paths in our shared neighbourhood. They were right, of course. With a sigh, I snapped back to reality. It was time to take control—to 'woman up' and resume life as usual, undeterred by the allure of the guy next door. This firm resolve reflected back at me as I assessed my appearance in the mirror.
Dressed in a black, off-shoulder jacket adorned with gold buttons, paired with high-waisted, knee-ripped jeans, I struck a balance between casual chic and comfort—perfect for a day at school. My black braids fell naturally, complementing the effortless style.
I packed my black CoolBELL convertible backpack with essentials: my silver laptop, a cherished gift from Carrie, and a notebook for class.
Stepping out, I savored the symphony of chirping birds and the caress of a gentle breeze—a reminder that life was indeed beautiful.
As I strolled down the cobblestone path, the neighborhood's charm was undeniable. The verdant lawns and vibrant blooms painted a serene escape from urban chaos.
Passing the new neighbor's house, curiosity got the better of me, and I craned my neck, hoping for a glimpse. The closed door, though, suggested he was still asleep.
"Great," I thought, a smile breaking across my face as confidence surged within me. Yet, a part of me secretly longed for a chance encounter.
"Good morning, beautiful," a voice suddenly called out, jolting me from my reverie just as I was about to head to school.
He stood there, a vision to behold, his forest green tank top clinging to his chiseled torso like a second skin. It highlighted the bulging biceps that flexed with the slightest movement. His gray shorts were a soft contrast, ending just above the knees, showcasing calves that were toned from countless runs.
Earphones nestled in his ears, he seemed lost in his own world—a world I found myself increasingly drawn to. Sweat glistened on his brow, not a sign of exertion but rather an enhancement of his rugged appeal. I found myself entranced, struggling to look away, yet when our eyes locked, his held a spark of sly recognition.
"I'm sorry if I startled you. It wasn't my intention," Nick's voice broke through my thoughts, a smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate through the air.
"It's okay," I replied, my voice a fluttering whisper, betraying the calm I tried to project. "I was just lost in thought." A nervous laugh betrayed my inner turmoil.
"Mandy," I introduced myself, the name feeling like an anchor in the sea of emotions his proximity stirred. "My name is Mandy," I reiterated as his eyebrows—a pair of perfect arches—rose in a silent question.
"Good morning, Mandy. Though 'beautiful' seems more fitting," he said, his words wrapping around me like a warm breeze, causing a blush to bloom across my cheeks.
Was this a compliment or flirtation?
Uncertain, but intrigued by his intense gaze and suggestive smile, I decided to keep it light.
"I should get going to school. Can't afford to be on the professor's bad side, after all, my grades depend on him." hoping my attempt at humour would mask the quickening of my pulse.
His laughter was a melody, low and husky, a sound that seemed to resonate with the morning air itself. It stirred something within me, a longing to hear it again, to be the reason for its existence.
"What major are you pursuing?" he inquired, catching me off guard.
"Mass communication," I said, "with a particular interest in television and film production."
"A dreamer of stories, then?" he teased, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Exactly," I agreed, "but also a doer. I'm all about media, less about journalism." His raised eyebrow prompted me to elaborate.
"I mean, journalism is great, I'm just saying it's not for me. I'm more of a book person. Reading, writing, and watching movies... I've always been fascinated by the creative process behind the scenes and the power of visual storytelling—not that I have, but I am looking forward to it... Basically, you don't need to hear all of this... oh, my! I'm rumbling again... I'm not the type to talk a lot... and I should probably stop talking." I bit my cheeks to keep from embarrassing myself any further." I rambled, then bit my lip, realizing I was oversharing.
Why was I so open with him, a stranger who for all I knew, could be a terrorist or worse a-? Yet, there was an ease in our conversation that felt oddly comforting.
"It's refreshing to see such enthusiasm for your field," Nick said, his chuckle soothing my embarrassment.
"About yesterday," I began, eager to clear the air, "I apologize for the less-than-ideal 'welcome to the neighbourhood.' My friends, well, they have their own way of doing things."
"Don't worry about it. I found it quite entertaining," Nick assured me, his smirk sending another wave of warmth across my face.
"I'd like to make it up to you. I'll do anything you ask," I offered impulsively.
"Anything?" he echoed, his gaze deepening, a hint of challenge in his voice.
"Yes, anything," I affirmed, quickly adding, "as long as it's legal and noble," which drew a soft laugh from him.
"And what does 'legal and noble' mean in your dictionary?" he probed, a playful note in his voice.
"I could show you around," I suggested, my hands now fidgeting behind my back. "You're new here, and it's always good to know where you're living," I explained, my breath catching slightly with nerves.
He considered my offer, then agreed with a smile that lit up his features, "A tour guide sounds perfect."
"More like a companion, since there's no charge," I corrected, eliciting a light-hearted laugh from him. I could listen to his laugh all day.
"See you later, pretty one," he called out, resuming his jog before I could respond. I stood there, my cheeks aflame, his endearment lingering in the air like a promise.
...
"Technological marvels like sound recording, advanced cameras, innovative editing techniques, and evolving narrative styles have rendered cinema more captivating and immersive," Mr. Martin, my film studies professor, elucidated with a flourish.
Our classroom was a far cry from the stereotypical image of disinterested college students. Each of us was there, fuelled by a fervent passion for the craft. We were united by a common desire: to conjure up worlds of fantasy and bring them to life on screen for audiences to lose themselves in.
As I pondered this, a vivid daydream of the guy next door interrupted my thoughts. There he was, shirtless, manoeuvring the lawnmower; his well-defined muscles rippled with each movement. Beads of sweat traced a path from his forehead, meandering down his neck to his collarbone. His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a swig of water, and that sly, knowing smirk of his sent my head spinning.
"I am delighted to see you so engrossed in the lecture, Miss Mandy," Mr. Martin's voice pierced through my reverie, taking a good five seconds to anchor me back to the present. My abrupt return to reality, accompanied by a hasty straightening of my posture, elicited laughter from the entire class, much to my embarrassment.
Why did my mind wander to him just then?
"I'm simply enamoured with my major," I quipped, attempting to deflect, which only incited another wave of laughter.
"I see..." Mr. Martin drawled, peering over his round spectacles in a way that signalled an impending challenge.
"What do we mean by the Silent Era?" he inquired, predictably. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and dove into my response.
"The Silent Era denotes the epoch in which films were crafted without synchronized soundtracks, a limitation born from the era's technological constraints. The essence of cinema during this time lay in the potency of visual storytelling—silent films that spoke volumes. Icons like Charlie Chaplin ascended to stardom, captivating audiences without uttering a single word," I concluded, my smile reflecting a sense of achievement.
Thankfully, my habit of studying ahead paid off.
"Excellently articulated. Let that be your assignment for this week. Craft a 1500-2000-word essay analysing a pre-1930 film, focusing on the discourse it generated. Select a film from the era we've discussed, and you may consider the works of actors and actresses listed on the school portal," Mr. Martin instructed, continuing to outline the task.
While hands-on projects sparked excitement, the prospect of research seemed to drain the enthusiasm from the room, as evidenced by the collective groans and murmurs of discontent.
"And for your additional assignment..." Mr. Martin announced, prompting a chorus of groans.
"On a Monday, no less," grumbled a student.
"Whether it's Friday or Saturday is irrelevant. Consider it an investment in your education," Mr. Martin retorted, eliciting a smattering of chuckles.
"The dean's announcement regarding Valentine's Day hasn't escaped your notice, I presume?" he continued. To my surprise, the room brightened with smiles—well, mostly from the women.
"I'll take your silence as affirmation. Incorporate something about the holiday in your work. We mustn't fall behind the times. Have a splendid day," he concluded. And with that, Mr. Martin made a swift exit from the lecture hall, as if pursued by the very spirit of Valentine's Day itself.
"I'm convinced that professor's heart was shattered in his youth, which explains his current sour disposition," Tanya, my deskmate, remarked with a scoff as we began to pack up.
"Do you really think so?" I chuckled, adjusting my backpack.
"I don't just think; I know."
"But he's married, Tanya."
"That doesn't negate the possibility of him still pining for his first love," she retorted with a snort, prompting an eye roll from me.
"You're just looking for reasons to support your theory," I pointed out, which was undeniably true—Tanya had a knack for being right.
"Or perhaps he's just frustrated. Maybe his wife has put a stop to his—"
"Don't you dare complete that sentence," I interjected sharply, cutting off her risqué speculation as we exited the lecture hall.
"Oh, come on, Mandy. What's wrong with saying 'coming'? Perhaps his wife didn't want him to come to school today," Tanya teased, her cheeky tone eliciting a scoff from me.
"Fine, I'll take your word for it."
Stepping outside, we were greeted by the bustling campus life. Students hurried along the pathways, some lounging on the grass engrossed in conversation or study. It was February, and the university was abuzz with the arrival of new students, evident from the sight of several hauling their belongings.
"At least the additional assignment promises some fun," Tanya's voice pulled me back to the present. "You know, the fourteen days leading up to Valentine's."
"You're not seriously into that nonsense, are you?" I groaned, weary of the topic.
"Nonsense? Oh my goodness, Mandy, you're really jaded. How can someone as lovely as you be so cynical about Valentine's Day?" she exclaimed dramatically, making me question why she wasn't pursuing a career in theatre like Lizzy.
"What does my disinterest in Valentine's Day have to do with anything?" I protested, frustrated by the constant association with the overhyped holiday.
"It's everything! Every girl looks forward to this day all year. A single day is hardly sufficient for romance, and the excitement of extending it to two full weeks is palpable! How can you not be thrilled by that?" Tanya continued, her enthusiasm undiminished.
"And what exactly are these 'extraordinary romantic things' that couples are supposed to do during these fourteen days?" I asked, my scepticism clear.
"It's simple, really. It's about doing things you've never done before."
"Like what? Using it as an excuse to dress up, look fabulous, and spend time with my partner?" I retorted, unimpressed by her justification.
"And let's not forget, it's an opportunity to explore new... intimacies. I've heard there are over four hundred—"
"Enough, Tanya! You're making my head spin with your endless chatter."
Why did I have such shameful friends?
I'm not like that!
I silently protested, covering my ears. Tanya's laughter rang out, unapologetic and infectious.
Tanya was a force of nature. When we first met, her youthful appearance and slender frame belied her true age and mischievous nature. She had a way with words, unfiltered and unrestrained.
"Aww, my sweet, innocent Mandy," Tanya cooed, giving me a playful look as she reached to pinch my cheeks, which I deftly avoided.
"Lighten up, will you? Instead of dwelling on the inevitable, why not immerse yourself in something thrilling? Embrace the spirit of the season," she nudged me gently, a twinkle in her eye.
Hmm, something thrilling, indeed. My thoughts drifted to a certain someone—a vision of shirtlessness that was hard to shake.
"Perhaps someone like the man who had you daydreaming in class?" Tanya's voice snapped me back to reality, and I turned to her in surprise. Her gaze was curious, then shifted to one of playful mischief, drawing laughter from me.
That was the beauty of Tanya's company; it was nearly impossible to remain downcast around her.
That is, until I spotted an unwelcome figure approaching us.
Just my luck.