- Yara -

Sunlight filtered through the tree's canopy, casting restless shadows over our outdoor workspace. I sat cross-legged on the picnic blanket, my digital sketchpad on my lap, laptop propped against my bag. Around me, Tate, Orion, and Caleb typed, their banter slicing through the quiet.

Tate, ever the jokester, leaned against a tree trunk. "Guys, listen—cursed loot. High-tier weapons that come with insane buffs or game-breaking debuffs. Imagine a legendary sword that randomly unequips itself in combat."

Orion didn't even look up, unfazed by Tate's unhinged ideas. "So... players spend hours grinding for an item that might betray them?"

"Exactly!" Tate grinned as if he found groundbreaking enlightenment. "It's the ultimate risk-reward system."

"It's a balancing nightmare," Orion said. "Aka: a shitty idea."

Caleb, who had been quietly listening, snorted. "No one's playing that dungeon, Tate."

I hummed, tapping my stylus against my lip. "Well... maybe if I had a powerful team to carry me in case I luck out..."

Tate gasped. "You see? That's the spirit! Yara gets it."

Orion didn't miss a beat, smacking him lightly upside the head. "She's humoring you, dumbass. That's not the same."

Their voices faded into the background as I sketched, my thoughts drifting elsewhere.

Zayne's refusal still gnawed at me—not unexpected, but sharper than I'd admit. I'd told myself to let it go, to stop fixating on him as a subject. But the moment Trevor confirmed the antique handover, my resolve cracked. Luckily, my creative spark didn't die like I initially thought. But still, I was—still am, tempted to draw him.

His face, voice, slight touch, lingered in my mind. I wasn't naive—I was attracted to him, and that stupid dream only worsened it. He was the kind of gorgeous that made people pause, caught between awe and intimidation. I am still sometimes consumed by guilt after weeks pass by.

Yet I wasn't about to spiral into mindless obsession.

"Yara."

Caleb's low voice cut through my thoughts. I looked up to find him too close, his gaze dropping to my screen.

"The UI looks good," he muttered, scanning the details before adding, "The inventory font needs to be bigger for mobile." His deep brown eyes lingered on me for a second too long, like he was waiting for something.

"A-alright," I said quickly, eager to move past whatever this was.

Caleb straightened, offering a rare voice of approval. "Not bad."

I blinked. That was... almost praise.

Tate gasped dramatically. "Caleb said something nice? Someone write this down before the moment passes."

"Orion, for Pete's sake, stop him," Caleb deadpanned.

Orion muttered a curse but didn't look up from debugging. I shook my head, a half-smile tugging at my lips as the team fell back into rhythm, their voices blending with the rustling leaves.

The sunlight dimmed, and the campus buzzed with students rushing to class. The last of my sketches was done. I slipped my laptop into my bag.

"Good luck with the inventory system," I said to Orion.

He gave a distracted nod, still typing furiously. Tate threw me a lopsided grin.

"Ditching us already?" Tate teased, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "After carrying the entire UI?"

"I've got a competition to prep for." I tucked a stray lock behind my ear. "I'll upload the files later. And don't worry, Tate—I'm sure Caleb's delightful leadership will see you through."

Orion snorted. Caleb's eyes flickered with amusement, though his face stayed cold.

"See you," Orion said before he and Tate veered off toward the campus.

The CS department was sleek—steel, glass, and concrete catching the soft afternoon light—a stark contrast to the Gothic-Renaissance spires of the art and literature buildings.The CS department stood in stark contrast to the Gothic-Renaissance spires of the art and literature buildings—sleek steel, glass, and concrete catching the last traces of afternoon light.

I decided to take the shortcut Orion had once mentioned. It was supposed to be faster, but the problem with this part of campus was its uniformity—identical buildings, identical trees. A winding maze disguised as efficiency. If I didn't pay attention, I'd end up right where I started.

The wind stirred lazily against my skin as I rounded a curve toward the courtyard. Then, a prickle ran down my spine.

Instinct made me glance over my shoulder.

Caleb, bag slung over one shoulder, walked at an unhurried pace—yet somehow, he matched mine effortlessly.

"Are you following me, Caleb?" I slowed slightly, half-turning toward him, unplugging one earpod.

"Don't flatter yourself," he replied smoothly. "I'm going this way."

I arched a brow. "Convenient."

He shrugged, his expression annoyingly composed. "Or maybe I'm just making sure the girl who's clearly lost doesn't end up somewhere she shouldn't."

"Lost?" I turned fully, narrowing my eyes. "I know exactly where I'm going."

Caleb's lips quirked. "Sure you do. You weren't just about to walk straight into the faculty-only zone, were you?"

I stopped in my tracks. Realization hit as I glanced around again for signs—it was the wrong direction.

Caleb's smirk was already forming. I rolled my eyes. Why did brooding men take so much joy in tormenting me?

I rolled my eyes and kept walking, not about to give him the satisfaction. He fell into step beside me, his pace lazy but steady, like he had all the time in the world.

We reached a quieter part of campus, where an older building loomed among the trees. The area was mostly empty, save for the rustling leaves and distant birdsong.

"Well, thanks for all your help," I said, shouldering my bag, sarcasm thick.

"Anytime," Caleb quipped, leaning against the wall. "But don't expect it to be free."

I huffed a laugh. "Do you charge by the insult?"

His grin softened—just a fraction. And then he pushed off the wall, stepping closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my chin slightly to hold his gaze.

"I was thinking... maybe I could make it up to you." His voice was even, unreadable, but the way he looked at me was anything but. "Dinner. When you're free." He paused, letting the words settle. "Just the two of us."

The words were familiar. I'd heard them plenty of times before. But coming from him?

The Caleb—the broody, insufferable, criticism-is-my-love-language project lead was asking me out. Just like that?

I blinked. "W-wait. Are you asking me out?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Crap.

His lips twitched. "Would I joke about this?"

"I mean... did I miss a memo?" I curled my fingers around my bag strap, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. And when did we start flirting? Jenna always swore I was dense, but no way.

Caleb's expression flickered into teasing as he took another slow, deliberate step forward.

I suddenly became very aware of just how tall he was. And fit. And—damn it—handsome. Not Zayne-level panty-dropper, but still. Wait, why was I even comparing?

My stomach did something very annoying.

His said. "I thought it was obvious. I figured I'd keep it simple for you since you're so busy missing memos."

"Funny. And I'm actually busy." Which was true. I was too busy to be available for dating. And also the easiest excuse to buy myself a second to process this.

"Ah. Of course." Caleb nodded solemnly. "The art world desperately needs your genius. I'll try not to stand in the way of your brilliance."

I fought back a smile. "Damn right, they do."

His smirk deepened. He matched my energy—surprisingly well. "So, what's your answer?"

I studied him curiously, weighing the offer. His sharp eyes locked on mine, half-amused, half-expectant... I almost wanted to see what he'd do next.

"You haven't quite earned that date." Yet.

Caleb tilted his head, eyes gleaming with interest. "And what's it going to take for you to say yes?"

I shrugged playfully. "For starters? You can help next time instead of just enjoying the show while I get lost."

He let out a soft laughter that let me glimpse his dimples, shaking his head. "Fair enough."

__________________

The brush felt heavy in my hand. The woman submerged in the blue ocean was slowly coming to life on the canvas. A rare morning with no classes, projects, or deadlines—naturally, I spent it the only way I knew how: working.

But what choice did I have? My 70% scholarship only covered so much. While my late parents left me a substantial inheritance, it wouldn't last forever unless I built a steady income. As for my maternal aunt? Her generosity came with a price I refused to pay.

Sometimes, I was my own worst enemy. At least I was doing something I loved.

Sunlight slanted through the window of my tiny studio, warming the back of my neck as I focused on the smallest details. My movements were precise, almost surgical—layering, waiting, then layering again. Months of work, too much time—but it was worth it.

I'd put progress pics on hold for my social media side hustle. The competition rules were strict—no showcasing until after the final judging. Restrictive? Maybe. But for a $25,000 grand prize and a chance to host my own art exhibition at Merrow, one of the most renowned galleries in the state? For a newcomer, that was a huge leap toward something real.

Jenna's voice cut through my trance just as I laid the last careful stroke. "That the last of it?"

"For now." I stretched, my muscles protesting. A sigh of relief left me as the tension eased.

Jenna lowered her camera, watching as I rubbed my fingers clean with a towel.

"We sacrificed precious sleep for this god-tie lighting, only for you to waste these shots." She tsked.

I scowled. "You suggested waking up at this ungodly hour instead of sleeping in like normal people, psycho."

Something was wrong with this bitch. Jenna was as much of a morning person as I was—which meant not at all. And considering we were up until 2 AM last night, she had no right to be this enthusiastic.

"Aaaannnnd you're welcome." Jenna grinned, unbothered, her dark circles displayed like war wounds. She flipped the DSLR screen toward me. "Because do you see this? I'm not just blowing smoke up your ass—your hair under this light? Straight-up Renaissance painting vibes." She sighed dramatically, staring at my golden strands like they were the cure for all her problems.

I squinted at the screen. "I look like a light bulb."

"You look ethereal."

"It's distracting from the actual process."

Jenna then grumbled. "Fair point. Wanna take more shots?"

I stared at her. Yeah, something was seriously off.

"Are you an alien? What did you do to the real Jenna—the one who hates waking up early and procrastinates like it's a damn sport?" I lifted a brow, holding up my phone. "You know the feds don't play nice with extraterrestrials."

Jenna clutched her chest like I'd just stabbed her. "Wow. First of all, rude. Second, if I were an alien, you think I'd waste my superior intergalactic intelligence waking up at the crack of dawn for your ass? No, I'd be out there running a billion-dollar empire and seducing astronauts."

I squinted. "Yeah, okay, so not an alien. But that still doesn't explain why you—the queen of 'I'll do it tomorrow'—are suddenly up and productive before noon."

There it was. A flicker of something beneath her usual sass. And I caught it immediately.

"Jen?" My voice softened as I stood.

She shrugged, way too casual, already heading for the kitchen. "Maybe I'm just evolving. Maybe life is a meaningless abyss and I need a distraction before I spiral into an existential crisis—who's to say?"

I followed as she swung open my fridge, then immediately cursed. "Damn, how do you live like this? Beer, apples, one sad yogurt—what the hell do we even make breakfast with?"

Jenna, being half-Japanese, was used to full, balanced breakfasts. Meanwhile, I was perfectly content with an apple and some caffeine.

"You sure you wanna eat my cooking?"

She paused. "Yeah? No thanks. I like being alive, and I'm not ready to meet my ancestors today."

"Bitch." I muttered, tossing her an apple. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened. You tell me why you didn't accept the hot nerd's offer to take you out." She took a bite.

Nice try, but I wasn't that easy to distract. Still, I answered. "Told him I don't want to date until the game project ends. If things go south, it'll mess with the workflow."

I even told Caleb he was free to date someone else in the meantime, if he changed his mind about the whole thing. But for some reason, that pissed him off. Weren't guys supposed to like it when girls weren't clingy?

Strange.

He swore he wouldn't. And then—there it was—that spark of determination in his eyes.

"And you actually told him he can date someone else in the meantime?" Her tone was accusing. "Poor dude."

I blinked. "What did I do?"

She looked at me like I was an idiot. "You're terrified of relationships, so you take every excuse to run. You might as well just tell him you won't date him."

Okay, did this alien have mind-reading abilities? How did she always see through me?

I held up my apple, placating. "Alright. I didn't agree to date—yet. But we've been texting."

Jenna muttered a curse in Japanese and took a bite of her apple.

I watched her carefully, my tone turning serious. "And something's eating you up. Don't change the subject. Is it Tyler?"

Her reaction was subtle but there—a flicker of something unreadable before she stilled.

My lips curled in distaste.

Tyler. Jenna's boyfriend of two years.

I had disliked him from the moment I met him. First, he made Jenna insecure about her Asian heritage, once claiming he hated sushi. Second, he rolled his eyes at her quirks, like her humor was something to tolerate instead of love.

And third?

He made a move on me once. I never told Jenna. It would only put me in an awkward position.

"What did he do this time?" My protective instinct flared up.

Usually, Jenna rushed to defend him. Or worse—joke that Tyler and I acted like bickering siblings. Ew. But not this time.

Her chin wobbled, she blinked her tears.

I moved before I thought, pulling her into me. She clung tight, her body trembling. My heart clenched. Jenna had always been strong. Stronger than me.

There was one time she cried, when I was too broken to, back when I lost my parents and had to trade my freedom for a gilded cage. She had cried for me.

I held her close, but as the minutes passed, my arms started to ache, my fingers tingling from how tightly she gripped me. Eventually, she pulled back, eyes red, voice hoarse. "Sorry."

"Don't say that. Tell me what he did." My voice was softer now, but the anger, that was still there.

Jenna hesitated, biting her lip. "You'll say 'I told you so.'"

"Tyler is the human equivalent of a gnat, but I won't say that." I looked down at her. "You're a grown woman. If it's bad, it's bad. I believe you can make a concise decision."

She swallowed hard. "He suggested an open relationship."

I blinked. Once. Twice. "Excuse me?"

She gave a broken laugh. "And not just that. He said if I had to sleep with someone, it could only be his friends."

My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. Open relationship? That was just a pretty way of saying, I want to cheat, but I also want to keep you tied to me. It was a coward's way of stringing someone along. People who love each other don't do that. Relationship wasn't just something physical.

And he didn't see Jenna as a girlfriend. He saw her as a toy to pass around. Disgust curled inside me. I had an idea what kind of sick thoughts lurked in assholes like Tyler.

I would murder that son of a bitch.

Will I look bad in orange?

Jenna swallowed hard, eyes wet. "I hated it. I hated that he could even suggest something like that. So I told him—fine. Then I get to pick who he gets to fuck too."

My lips parted, but no words came out.

"He snapped. He says if I love him I'd accept this."

I don't give a crap about orange, I'm gonna murder him anyway.

"So, he knows he's wrong so he gaslighted you," I muttered angrily.

Fresh tears spilling down her cheeks, she folded herself in. "He never loved me, Yara. H-how could he even say something like that? Did he grow tired of me? Was I not enough-"

I interrupted her, rubbing calming circles on her back. "Screw him. He's not worth your tears. You have boundaries and self-worth. Hot, sexy as hell. If I were a guy, I'd worship the ground you walk on."

Because Jenna was gold, inside and out. Her only flaw? She wanted to see goodness in people—even when there was none. She thought she could change Tyler's controlling, manipulative tendencies.

There was a harsh light in her eyes. "I'm breaking up with him. For good."

Hallelujah.

I wanted to do a full-blown happy dance right this second, but celebrating beside my tearful best friend might be a little inappropriate.

"About time."

Jenna huffed, wiping at her eyes.

Then, an idea struck me. Elijah—the popular guy from my art department—was throwing a party at his new condo. A big one. Almost everyone from every department would be there, especially the high-society kids from our university. I was naturally invited because I was the niece of a senator.

"Hey, Elijah's throwing a party this evening," I said. "Practically everyone's going. We should go."

Jenna frowned. "You hate parties."

I crossed my arms. "I do. You don't."

Jenna loved the wild, reckless energy of a good party. She thrived on the music, the drinks, the flashing lights, the freedom. It was her escape. And if there was ever a time she needed an escape, it was now.

She sniffled. "I don't know..."

I arched a brow, wiping away her tears. "You wanna sit here crying over that douche, or do you wanna dress up, get drunk, and dance your ass off while he fades into irrelevance? Maybe you will meet someone hotter. Make him regret what he just threw away."

Jenna stared at me for a beat—then huffed a laugh. "God, I love you."

I squeezed her shoulders. "That's what best friends are for.".