At 18, the weight of responsibility pressed down on me, a constant hum of worry that vibrated beneath the surface of my everyday actions. A groan ripped from my throat as I wrestled with my hair. Tomorrow was my first day of college, and I still hadn't decided whether to rent an apartment or stay in the dorm. My stomach twisted, hesitant at the thought of sharing a space with a stranger. But I had no choice. Working at the nearby cafe, with its meager pay, barely covered my bills, leaving me constantly struggling to make ends meet. I was constantly checking my bank account, wondering how I would make it to the next payday. As I walked to the store, battling with my thoughts, I bumped into someone. "Sorry, sir," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. "Ouch! Do I look old to you?" "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." He cut me off, his voice a low growl. "Didn't mean to what?" He stood there, a dark cloud of anger hanging over him. I kept apologizing, but it was no use. He just stared at me, his eyes burning into my soul. Two hours had passed since the incident, and the memory of his anger still burned, a hot coal in my chest. The sharp, clean scent of laundry detergent filled the air, a stark contrast to the knot of anxiety in my stomach, as I sat on the couch, sorting through my belongings. The thought of a dorm room, a way to avoid a huge pile of bills, kept swirling in my mind.
Monday. "I'm late!" Oh no, I'd overslept. My heart hammered in my chest as I scrambled out of bed, my mind racing. I threw my belongings into a backpack, yanked on my hoodie, and burst through the door, a wave of panic washing over me. As I entered the gate, a wave of panic surged over me. Would I get a red mark on my first day? I slipped into the classroom, relieved to find the professor wasn't as strict as I'd expected. "This better not happen again," he said, his voice a low growl. I nodded nervously, "Yes, sir, it won't happen again."
The professor began the class by having us introduce ourselves. When it was my turn, I felt a familiar sting of anxiety. But then, I saw him, the guy from yesterday, sitting in the front row. His name was Kyle, and he was smirking at me. As I walked straight to an empty seat, the air was thick with the scent of old textbooks. There he was, Kyle, his smirk a mocking shadow on his face. "It was you, the guy from yesterday," he whispered, his voice a low rumble.
"Oh, you mean the guy who almost knocked you into next week?" I quipped back, trying to lighten the mood.
Kyle's smirk widened. "Yeah, that guy. You know, the one who's really good at making a grand entrance."
"Hey, I'm a man of action, not words," I said, trying to play it cool.
"Right, because bumping into people is totally an action-packed move," Kyle said, shaking his head.
"Look, I know I bumped into you yesterday, and I'm really sorry. It was totally my fault. Can we just forget about it?"
He didn't say anything, just glared at me, his expression unreadable. I sighed, wishing this day couldn't get any worse. I was just heading to class when my friend Liam called out from behind, "Hey! Fancy grabbing lunch together?"
To be continued...