a few hours earlier...
"It's February, right?" I asked, navigating through the bustling crowd, careful not to be swept away in the tide of bodies.
The campus was abuzz with an unusual energy, especially for February. Typically, the only students this animated were the freshmen, their excitement palpable as they embarked on their new academic journey.
Clutching my oversized backpack, now a makeshift shield, I maneuvered around, mindful not to cause any harm to the school's facilities. The equipment strapped to the front added an extra layer of caution to my steps. Despite the recent end of the holiday season, the university thrummed with a vibrancy that suggested its return.
The corridors should have been filled with the lethargic, post-holiday daze, yet here everyone was—lively and oddly invigorated.
"Everyone's abuzz with excitement for the Lover's Day holiday," Tanya remarked, stepping aside to avoid the bustling crowd. "I've heard there's going to be a red carpet event on the 14th," she added.
"Will this be an annual affair from now on? Who thought of this, anyway?" I asked, my frustration evident as my gaze flitted across the throng.
We were en route to meet Samantha from the Journalism Faculty.
"You'd never guess—it was Silvia," Tanya responded, stopping me in my tracks. "What do you mean by 'Silvia'?" I pressed, hoping for some clarity. "How can you be sure it was her?"
"Samantha told me. Silvia proposed the idea to the dean, suggesting it would be beneficial for the students and enhance the university's image. She apparently has substantial support for her proposal," Tanya elaborated, adjusting her bag as we walked.
We were navigating our way through the university's labyrinthine corridors to meet Samantha, a journalism major with an uncanny knack for being in the know. Her reputation for having her finger on the pulse of campus life left little room for doubt regarding the veracity of her words to Tanya.
The Valentine's Day event, which I had initially dismissed as a mere whimsical endeavor for the students, now seemed to carry an air of intrigue with Silvia's involvement. Known for her calculated moves, Silvia wouldn't engage in anything without a significant reason, particularly given her knowledge of my personal disdain for Valentine's Day. Could there be an ulterior motive, or was I allowing paranoia to cloud my judgment?
Silvia orchestrating an event solely to needle me seemed far-fetched, yet the thought lingered stubbornly.
My musings were abruptly interrupted by a brusque encounter with a passerby. The collision nearly sent me sprawling, but I managed to regain my balance at the last moment, sparing myself the embarrassment of a second public mishap in one day. My quick reflexes preserved my dignity, though my shoulder suffered a jarring shock from the impact.
"Watch where you're going!" the offender barked, disappearing into the crowd without so much as an apology. Tanya's voice, laced with concern, broke through the hum of the hallway.
"Hey, are you alright?" she asked. Her eyes then hardened as she called out to the retreating figure, "What a jerk!" Her words, though spoken in a low growl, elicited a chuckle from me despite the soreness radiating through my shoulder.
"I'm fine, really. Let's hurry up and find Samantha before we get caught in a human stampede," I suggested, rubbing my shoulder to soothe the ache as we continued on our quest.
Breathing a sigh of relief, we finally reached our destination unscathed. I found myself silently hoping for the days to swiftly pass and bring this chapter to a close.
As I shifted the weight of my bag, now a constant companion on my shoulder, my eyes settled on the imposing structure before us, its name etched in bold letters: the Economics Department.
"Hi, Tanya, hello, Mandy," greeted Samantha, the very person we sought, her smile as radiant as the summer sun.
Her attire was a testament to the season—a vibrant summer dress that flirted with the breeze just above her knees, paired elegantly with pristine white sandals. The ensemble was completed with a chic bob haircut. Samantha was the embodiment of grace and allure, her hourglass figure commanding a second glance from onlookers.
"Finally, you're here!" Samantha burst out, her hands coming together in a joyful clap. Her beauty was matched only by her vivacity—a cheerful presence that brightened the room. While her friendliness was undeniable, I remained cautious; her curiosity often bordered on prying, a trait that served her well academically but could be overbearing on a personal level.
I mustered a strained smile, my hand instinctively cradling the tender spot on my shoulder—a souvenir from the earlier collision, no doubt destined to bloom into a bruise.
"Right, let's dive in," Samantha declared, her enthusiasm undiminished.
"I've got five faculties to interview within the hour before anyone else scoops the stories. Are we ready to roll?" she asked, her fingers wrapping around the diminutive microphone as she positioned herself at the helm.
"Ready when you are," I said, getting the equipment set.
With a deep breath, Samantha launched into her report the moment I cued 'action.'
"Isn't it a a beautiful day? This is Samantha, reporting from the University of Art with sensational news that's sure to captivate. As everyone knows, February has long been the month of love—a time for couples to revel in romance and exchange tokens of affection.
However, this year marks a departure from tradition. Instead of celebrating Valentine's Day as a singular event, the University of Art has introduced a delightful and extended celebration. Imagine, not just one day, but two whole weeks devoted entirely to love and companionship!"
Samantha's delivery was electric, her confidence infusing the air with an energy reminiscent of a crisp autumn day, alive with the promise of blooming flowers.
"Yes, that's right. It's the Fourteen Days of Valentine for you," She affirmed, while I fought to suppress an eye roll. Admittedly, I relished my role behind the camera. Yet, the repetition of 'Valentine' was starting to wear thin.
"And here's the best part: everyone is welcome to participate, regardless of their major or relationship status. As you can see, we're stationed outside the Economics Department, where I have the honor of interviewing Paul, the head class representative of Economics." As I panned the camera to him, Paul came into sharp focus.
Dressed in crisp black slacks and a neatly tucked-in blue shirt, he exuded a professional charm that belied his status as a student.
Tanya, meanwhile, was skillfully positioning a condenser microphone above their heads, ensuring every word would be captured clearly.
"How are you today, Paul?" Samantha greeted him with a warm smile.
"I'm well, thank you," Paul replied with a professional nod.
"How's everything going? The campus seems unusually active. I've noticed you and your team have been quite busy."
Paul agreed with a thoughtful nod. "The past couple of days, including today, have indeed been hectic." His expression remained composed, a smile a rare visitor to his features.
"And would you say this bustle is related to Valentine's Day? What's your take on the event? There seems to be a mix of excitement and annoyance among the students."
"That's accurate. When the dean announced it as an official event, I felt it was a bit presumptuous. Not everyone considers this to be a significant occasion..."
And there it was—validation of my own sentiments. Finally, someone who echoed my perspective on the dean's unilateral decision!
"But, once the initiative was underway, I began to understand the dean's decision," Paul continued, catching me off guard.
"How so?" Samantha probed, her interest evidently piqued, and I found myself leaning in to listen.
"Engaging in this project pushed us to venture beyond our academic theories and apply our skills in real-world scenarios. From the outset, we've been approached by a constant flow of clients and students from different faculties seeking our expertise. We've assisted with survey conduction, budget planning, analysis of intricate economic trends, and provided business strategy consultations.
It's been a mere three days, yet the practical experience I've garnered feels equivalent to what one might expect after a full internship." Paul's account was articulate, painting a picture of unexpected professional growth that left me with little to question.
And as much as I hated it, I was starting to see reason behind all this fiasco.
When I originally heard about this activity, I assumed my eyes would be assaulted by a swarm of PDAs. Surprisingly, it kept folks on their toes. It's no surprise that the dean was keen to make it official.
Paul excused himself, his expertise needed elsewhere. With our interview concluded, we ventured onward to explore other departments. I found myself drawn to the theatrical and fashion design faculties, where two of my closest friends were stationed. Their presence there was like a beacon, each radiating confidence and an effortless grace that was captivating to behold.
The final interview location was one I would have preferred to avoid: the Faculty of Computing and Information Technology. It was Silvia's domain. Nevertheless, professionalism prevailed, and I steeled myself to set aside personal feelings and focus on the task at hand.
"And here she is, the mastermind behind the brilliant initiative. Not only is she a vision of beauty, but she's also the embodiment of intellect. Silvia Wema, the esteemed vice president of Art University, looks as radiant as ever."
Summoning every ounce of professionalism, I managed to maintain a neutral demeanor as Samantha lavished praise on Silvia. Today, Silvia had forsaken her usual vibrant wardrobe for a more subdued elegance—a sleek sky-blue dress that graced her knees, cinched with a white belt, complemented by white open-toed heels. Her makeup, understated yet refined, accentuated her natural poise.
"You're too kind, Sam. And you're looking quite beautiful yourself," Silvia responded, her words trailing when someone called her.
"Let's make this quick so you can return to your duties. You seem to be in high demand," Samantha said, her tone professional yet friendly.
"Why extend Valentine's Day to a full 14 days?" she asked, her curiosity mirrored in my own anticipation of Silvia's response.
"May I counter with a question of my own?" Silvia proposed, piquing my interest further.
Despite her reputation for being petulant, overbearing, and elitist, Silvia had a knack for strategic communication. The persona she projected now was a carefully crafted facade, far removed from the Silvia I knew.
"Why not dedicate fourteen days to fostering love across the world? Heaven knows we need more of it," Silvia declared. Her response was surprisingly apt, a stark contrast to the self-serving demeanor I knew all too well.
As I watched her, a sudden chill ran through me. My gaze inadvertently fell upon a figure from the past, someone I hadn't laid eyes on in years. My face paled as the man next to Silvia met my stare, his expression mirroring my shock.
Why was he here? This couldn't be happening. He wasn't supposed to be here!
Turning my attention back to Silvia, I caught the tail end of a malicious smirk directed at me.
I knew I was right.
This was never about celebrating love. The fourteen days were a charade, a stage for some twisted game. Silvia's self-satisfied smile and the presence of the man beside her were the damning evidence of a plot far more personal.
present...
"Why does it always have to be like this—meeting you when I'm a complete mess?" I muttered, my hands instinctively rising to shield my face.
We were at the cafe, a stone's throw away from the university.
The iced coffee in my hand was more than a refreshment—it was a lifeline, helping to steady my nerves. As the coolness seeped in, my mind cleared, and I could hardly believe how close I'd come to crumbling publicly.
Nick, ever since I bumped into his, has been nothing but supportive. He didn't ask any questions, only held me tight, comforting and brought me here.
"Can you walk?" I remember his voice, gentle and warm. Now that my mind was clear, I wanted the world to open and swallow me alive.
There's nothing more mortifying for a woman than to be seen unravelling by the very person they hope to impress.
"Does this happen often?" Nick's question snapped me back to reality, his voice tinged with concern. Gone was his usual playful demeanor, replaced by a gravity I hadn't seen before.
"No, it's been ages," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips.
"You're going to be okay, right? You seem exhausted," he observed, the worry in his eyes warming my heart. There's something profoundly comforting about the man you admire showing such genuine care.
He had questions, that much was clear, but he held them back, respecting my silence. And I wasn't ready to open up—not yet. How could I explain that just seeing him had sent me spiraling back to my freshman self?
"Thank you for being here... for everything today," I said, my gratitude genuine. If Nick hadn't been there, I shudder to think what might have happened.
My days as the university's darling may be behind me, but I still had a reputation to uphold—one that wouldn't benefit from a public breakdown.
"And I'll be fine," I assured him with a smile. "Just a busy day of filming around campus and assisting with a friend's project. Nothing a little iced coffee can't help." I raised the cup to my lips, to take a sip.
"Are you guys having an event coming up?" Nick inquired. "I can't help but notice you guys seem pretty busy," Nick observed as he reached for his drink.
"What brought you to the university?" I wondered out loud, recalling that I had just left university when I ran into him. My recollection of that was still hazy.
"I was walking around looking for a barber shop when I ran into you," he explained as he sucked his drink through the straw.
My attention inadvertently settled on his hair as he spoke. A frown creased my brow, wondering why he'd consider shaving when his slightly curled, short afro suited him so well.
"Please don't shave it off. You look... really hot," I blurted out, then instantly regretted my candor as my cheeks burned with a sudden flush.
"No worries, pretty one. I'll keep it just the way it is if it catches your eye. Consider it a personal favor," Nick teased, and I could feel my shyness intensifying.
"Wait... who said anything about being attracted to you?" I retorted, trying to ignore the pleasant flutters wreaking havoc in my stomach.
"You're not?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his question sending my pulse racing.
"That's a pity," he said, leaning back with a casual shrug. "I was "Actually, I was just considering a trim," he mused.
"Huh? Oh—yeah, a trim sounds good. Not that it's any of my business. It's your hair, your choice," I stammered, trying to steady my fluttering heart. I caught Nick raising an eyebrow and flashing a knowing smile.
"You know what? I'll show you the best barbershop around," I declared, my hand slapping the table as I made to stand. But as I rose, a sharp pang shot through my shoulder blade, forcing me back to my seat.
A groan escaped me as I clenched my eyes shut, the pain radiating through my neck, growing more intense by the second.
"Are you okay?" Nick's voice was laced with concern, his presence immediate at my side, his hand gently resting on my unafflicted shoulder.
I longed to nod, to assure him I was fine, but I couldn't. My neck felt locked in place, and the slightest movement seemed like it would be the end of me. Never before had I experienced such a blend of pain and fear.
"Nick," I managed to whisper, my voice barely a thread.
"I'm here. Just tell me what to do," he urged.
"I think I'm going to die," I whispered, as a solitary tear traced its way down my cheek.
…
"Wh...wait...what are you doing?" I managed to gasp out, an attempt to turn my head cut short by a sharp jab of pain that commanded stillness.
Now at his house, I found myself perched awkwardly on his couch, my head stubbornly tilted to one side. Apparently, I was having a neck muscle pull and boy, doesn't this thing hurt and scary?
"Just let me help you, okay?" Nick's voice was calm and reassuring as his hand brushed against my shoulder.
"I'm going to massage the stiffness out of your neck," he announced, setting a small bottle on the stool beside the couch.
What?
My mind reeled momentarily, and I fought the urge to shake my head, to confirm I hadn't misheard, but the pain tethered me to immobility.
"No, that's not necessary," I protested weakly.
"Stop being stubborn. Let me take care of you, or do you prefer being stuck like this?" His tone was gentle yet firm, a blend of concern and a touch of humor.
His words held a playful edge, but they were enough to keep me still, anticipating his next move. As his hand approached my shoulder, the sensation was gradual. The off-shoulder top I wore today granted him easy access to my skin.
The unexpected chill of his touch made me shiver, a stark contrast to the summer warmth. My mind barely had time to ponder this anomaly before his fingers began their soothing dance, easing the tension away.
"You are stiff, just relax and you'll be fine," his whisper fell on my skin and I swallowed shivering at his vibration. I tried, but it was impossible, or not as his hands started working magic.
His hands were slowly kneading each strand of muscle, and I could feel the tension leaving my body voluntarily. The stressful day and the encounter with that nightmare of a person seemed to fade away. My eyes rolled to the back of my head from how good it felt.
Is it normal for a massage to feel this good? I wondered, but my mind quickly went blank as I indulged in the pleasure that came with it.
"This feels so good," I moaned, tilting my head further to allow him more access. "And it smells so nice," I mumbled, referring to the ointment he was applying.
"Yeah? You seem to have a better scent, in my opinion." With his voice huskier than normal, Nick spoke almost next to my ear. That sentence alone caused my heart to race and made me stiffen up once again.
Nick kept massaging my shoulder and stroking my back, making sure I didn't remain tense for too long. As he continued to stroke my skin, he moved to the edge of my arms before returning to my shoulders and neck. As he did so, I closed my eyes.
Perhaps because I was too relaxed to think, my tongue became loose and spoke. "How do I smell?" I mumbled, my eyes closed.
"You smell like vanilla. Fresh, sweet, and sensual." My thighs shifted restlessly, unconsciously.
My mind could only think of one thing: he likes my scent, and the thought caused me to throw my head back, allowing him to breathe me as much as he wanted.
Because it was just for him, to smell.
Can one get turned on by a massage?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________