Ten thirty PM
Ava's alarm went off at 5:30 AM-again. She smacked her phone, missing the snooze button and knocking it onto the floor instead. Perfect. Another morning started with her crawling out of bed like some half-dead gremlin, reaching under her desk for her only connection to the outside world.
She had exactly twenty minutes before she had to be out the door for her morning shift at the campus coffee shop. Ten minutes for getting dressed, five for brushing her teeth and pretending she had a skincare routine, and five to shove something vaguely breakfast-like in her bag. She never made it through all twenty.
"Shit! shit! Shit!" i mumbled under my breath pressing the power button of my laptop i forgot to charge. Ofc, i forgot the charger; that's what happens when you are rushing things out, but at this point, I wasn't even surprised. I took notes in my notebook. After class, I asked my best friend for help ( a study buddy, Emile, (Dekisugi , from Doraemon)of my life, c'mon we all have that friend ykiyk).
Classes ran from 9 AM to 3 PM. She went to the library to study and had my lunch, then a closing shift at the bookstore. She didn't get the hype of booktok (even though romance novels are the only romance in her life).
Around campus, there was a running joke, the gossip which almost everyone happened to hear about-
"The book girls belong to the biker boys."
Ava had heard it enough times to roll her eyes on instinct.
Biker boys were loud, reckless, and always looking for a girl to impress or a dare to one-up.
This is her definition of biker boys, however, she never cared enough to actually give it a thought, she convinces herself.
She had rent. Tuition. Siblings. Shifts. Deadlines.
Fun wasn't in her schedule, and love wasn't in the plan.
Not when she was this close to burning out just to stay afloat.
Every night at 10:30 PM, she left the bookstore with sore feet and a mind full of unfinished assignments, walking past the same corner without slowing down.
And like clockwork, they were there, like the universe playing some cruel joke, they were there.
Motorcycles lined up like trouble waiting to happen. Laughter spilling onto the sidewalk.
She never looked twice-except maybe once. Maybe twice.
But she'd never admit it.
"Yo, there she is," Logan grinned, elbowing Sylas lightly.
Sylas, who'd been leaning against his matte black bike with one boot planted on the curb, didn't respond at first. He just watched her-shoulders tense, walking fast like she was late for something even when she wasn't. Hair loose, glasses slipping down her nose "She's in a rush," Sylas said, leaning back against his bike like he hadn't been watching her from the second she stepped out.
Logan smirked. "Nah, she just thinks we're idiots."
"Maybe we are."
"But you still park here every night. Real subtle."
Sylas didn't bother to argue.
He just watched her go, fast steps, tired eyes, always carrying more than she should.
Logan eyed him. "You ever gonna talk to her?"
Sylas let out a dry breath, something close to a laugh.
"When it matters."
Logan raised a brow. "And when's that?"
Sylas's gaze stayed fixed on the spot where she'd disappeared around the block.
His voice low but certain.
"When she stops running."
