Chapter One: He’s Loud, I’m Tired.
The first time Jasmyne saw Chris was during syllabus week.
He was posted up outside the student union in a loud-ass hoodie, surrounded by too many people, vaping like he was trying to start a fog machine. Laughing at something that wasn’t that funny.
She didn’t look twice.
Okay, maybe once.
But only because he was talking too loud and kept looking at her like he knew her.
She was there to pick up her student ID, wearing oversized headphones and a hoodie two sizes too big. Hair in a bun. No makeup. Just vibes and mild social anxiety.
She kept her head down.
Until he walked up with that stupid smile.
“Let me guess. Lit major?” he asked.
She blinked.
“No.”
“Psych? Nah… you give creative writing energy.”
She took out one earbud. “Why are you talking to me?”
Chris grinned like that didn’t bother him.
“You just look like somebody who’s always thinking deep sh*t. Quiet. Kinda mysterious.”
“And you look like someone who says dumb sh*t on purpose.”
He laughed. “Damn. I like her already.”
She rolled her eyes and walked off.
He watched her leave, still smiling like she was a challenge he couldn’t wait to fail at first.
Later that week… ✏️
Jasmyne found out he lived two floors up in her building.
And somehow?
He was everywhere.
At the dining hall.
In the gym she never used.
Even on the same campus shuttle.
Every time he saw her, he had something to say.
“Looking all quiet again.”
“You still mad at me for breathing too loud?”
“You tryna act like I ain’t cute?”
It was exhausting.
But… not enough for her to block him.
Not yet.
What pissed her off more?
He had a girlfriend.
Cute, loud, party type — just like him.
But he still talked to Jasmyne like he didn’t mean nothing by it.
Like he didn’t notice how long he stared when she walked past.
Like he didn’t watch her sit by herself in the quad with her notebook and write for hours.
He started leaving her dumb notes.
“You still hate me? Circle one: yes / yes.”
“Wanna hear a poem? Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m annoying as hell, but I still see you.”
She never responded.
But she kept every single one.
One night she was doing laundry in the basement alone, hoodie on, headphones in… when the lights flickered and she heard the dryer stop too early.
“Yo. That happened to me last night,” said a voice behind her.
She turned. Chris again.
“Relax,” he said, smirking. “I’m not stalking you. I just live here.”
“Unfortunately,” she muttered.
He helped her restart the machines. Stayed even after they were working.
“Why do you talk to me like this?” she finally asked.
He looked her in the eyes.
Not cocky.
Not smirking.
Just real.
“Because when you look at me… it feels like the first time somebody ever really did.”
She didn’t respond.
Not with words, anyway.
But she sat next to him on the laundry table.
And didn’t leave until her clothes were done.
