H A R P E R

"How are the classes going?" My father asked on the other end of the line, while he was helping my mom bake some cupcakes.

They held up the tablet on the window pane above the kitchen sink, so I could see them clearly while they moved around, and I had my phone resting against the wall, while I ate dinner on my desk.

Classes started at Columbia University a couple of days after the freshman reception event. I had printed my schedule and scotch taped it on the wall, right above my desk, but most of the time, I preferred not to even glance at it.

On the first official academic week I attended all my classes without a single fail, but after the first weekend away from home with nothing to do and no one to do anything with, I found it exasperating just to look at a timetable that forced me to start my days at seven o'clock in the morning, just to attend an 8 AM class on University Writing. It felt pointless to deprive me from sleeping two extra hours to let them try to format my way of writing so that it fits their Ivy League standards. Plus, one habit I haven't been breaking since moving to New York is to read. And I love to read my books at night, until my eyes give in, and they usually don't give in until two o'clock in the morning, so, I was going to take all the sleep that I could get.

"Okay, I guess."

"Just okay?" My mom questioned with furrowed eyebrows, always knowing me better than I know myself, and not believing any of the crap I tell her.

"They're classes, mom." I deadpanned, trying to reason with her. "They're not supposed to be fun."

"What about your classmates? I bet they make it fun."

Let's see... I sit at the back of the class everyday, far enough from everyone and as soon as the class ends, I'm the first person to get out of the room before any of those social butterflies tries to ask me to join one of those ridiculous parties they like to attend.

"Hm... they're cool."

I was pretty sure that at this point, neither my mom nor my dad could be fooled by the picture I was trying to paint them, but this was my best effort to conceal the fact that I was hating my college experience so far.

"By the way," I said, changing the subject before any of them could throw another question at me. "I'll be visiting this weekend."

"What?!"

It's safe to say that the commute between New York and California wasn't exactly easy or quick. We weren't exactly talking about a cheap two or three hour bus ride, but a very expensive six hour flight.

My parents rushed to the tablet, and with spatulas in their hands and messy clothes, they eyed me with disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" My mom asked, sounding more shocked than thrilled to have me home for the weekend.

"I have some free time on Friday." I lied, but made sure to sound convincing enough.

I didn't have any free time on Friday. But after searching for the cheapest flights for the weekend, I realized that flying on Friday was the better option and I would be home an extra day, so it was a win-win. I was just planning to skip classes on that day and claim to be sick if anyone asked. So far I didn't even have a roommate to vouch for my lie, so that was one less thing to worry about.

"Okay, well... we're happy to see you again, sweetheart." My dad showed me a genuine smile. "But are you sure it's worth it? You know, all those hours on the plane and at the airports?"

"Yeah." I shrugged after I was done eating my carbonara pasta. "I miss you guys a lot and I wanted to see my friends as well. Plus, I'll take my book with me. It'll keep me company while I wait to board."

"You want us to pick you up at the airport?"

"If you can, sure. If you're busy I'll just call an Uber."

"We'll be there." My dad said in a heartbeat, without thinking twice.

"Thanks." I smiled at them. "I'll email you the details of my flight."

If I was going to spend the money my grandmother had given me as a monthly allowance to help pay for food to go home for three days, I was going to make it worth it. So, I was smart enough to book only overnight flights. The first one would be departing from Newark Airport just before eight PM on Thursday, and after a short forty-five minute layover in Washington, I would be flying directly to LAX. And with the time difference, I would actually be arriving late Thursday night, getting the chance to sleep in my own bed and in my own home. And yes, the Newark Airport wasn't the most practical choice, but it was the cheapest, so an hour in public transportation from Columbia to the airport was just something I would have to deal with. On the way back, I was actually lucky enough to find a direct flight less than five hours in duration, in which I would leave California nearing midnight on Sunday and would arrive in Newark shortly before 8 AM. And since I wasn't planning on attending that good for nothing, pointless first class of the day, the time wasn't a problem.

My father waltzed in the direction their device's camera was pointing at and showed me a look of concern. "Are you sure you'll be fine on your own, flying across the country?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I said before sounding a little bit more bitter than I'd meant to. "If I'm grown enough to be fine living on my own in New York City, I am grown enough to take a couple of flights home."

After that being said, they didn't show any signs of protest. They know their daughter well enough to know that when I start sounding sarcastic and bitter that I am well past the point of being able to talk about it. Whatever it may be.

We said our goodbyes and I clicked on the round, red button, disconnecting the call. I let out a long, exasperated breath as I eyed the picture frame that I had on the desk next to my laptop. This conversation alone was emotionally draining to me. It's like I know they know something's wrong, but I keep lying to them about it and they keep pretending to believe it, and instead they opt for just trying to talk me out of things like visiting home, for example, hoping that if I stay here and never visit home I'll eventually adjust to being here when deep down I know I just won't.

I got up from the chair and with my phone in one hand, I grabbed my blanket to take with me to the bed. I quickly searched for the ongoing conversation with Zoey and opened the thread of text messages.

Harper: Hey, how's it going?

When she didn't text me back right away (probably because she was at swim practice), I texted her again.

Harper: Are you guys doing anything fun this weekend? I'll be home on Friday and I don't leave until Sunday night, we could do something!

Once I settled down and was comfortably wrapped around my blanket, I picked up my book and continued reading, picking up right where I left off last night. Not too long after, my phone buzzed and I unlocked the screen.

Zoey: What do you mean you'll be home next weekend?!

Harper: It's a long (but very uninteresting) story, I just had some free time. Anyway, I'm counting on you to come up with a cool plan.

Zoey: We'll talk better on Friday. I'll come over after school.

Harper: Great! I can't wait to see you <3

I was nearing the end of The Love Hypothesis, roughly two chapters away from the ending, when the sound of someone knocking on my door startled me. There is absolutely nothing I hate more than when I get interrupted as I'm reading the end of a book I'm enjoying, and that is specifically why I save the last chapters to read when I'm by myself. One time I was reading Fangirl on the bus and I literally stopped myself from reading so I could finish it at home, in peace, with no distractions whatsoever.

So, I did what I thought was best, and ignored whoever it was that was knocking. But that someone didn't give up.

They knocked more and then spoke up, "Harper! Are you there?"

I knew that voice. It was impossible not to recognize who it belonged to when that person was Wyatt Stone.

I thought a lot during those first five seconds, debating on whether I should just stay quiet and hope he'd go away, or open the door.

I don't know what helped me to make a choice. It may have been the way Adam and Olive's recent developments in the book were causing my heart to do backflips and my soft side was intensified. Or it may have nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact that he said "Good." when the last time we were together he learned I was single, just like he was.

I chose the latter. I looked ahead and found Wyatt and his dimples staring back at me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked before he even got the chance to greet me.

"Hey!" Wyatt's smile perked up. "Just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine." I let the words linger in the air, not adding anything and Wyatt not responding either. The eye contact between us was getting too intense, and I forced my eyes to look somewhere else, they searched the view until I found a pink box in his hands that caught my attention. "What is that?"

"Oh, this?" He was purposefully sounding mysterious, with a hint of tease. Wyatt lifted up the box until it reached our line of sight. "Just a little something I bought that I thought you'd like."

The smell of sugar didn't lie.

"From the best bakery in New York City." He added before holding the box on the palm of his hand, and opening the box with his free one.

Donuts. Twelve donuts carefully and neatly packed next to each other. Five of them were regular, sugar donuts with powdered sugar on top (my personal favorite), four of them were chocolate, and the other three were cinnamon. To me, this is as close to heaven as it gets.

"Wyatt, you..." I hesitated. "You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, these are for me."

He didn't even attempt to conceal a lie, he chose to fully provoke me, showing me a teasing smile as he closed the box again.

"You're telling me you bought a dozen donuts all for you?"

"I'm a changed man since I met you." He sounded so breezy, so at ease, saying those words as if what he'd just said didn't carry the weight that they clearly did for us. "I'm a big donuts fan, now. Can't go a day without eating one."

I snickered and rolled my eyes at him while keeping my hand on the door knob and pushing the door open a little wider. Not needing to exchange words, he got the hint and walked inside my dorm.

"Cool room." He said after placing the pink box on top of my desk and taking a quick look around.

"Thanks."

We skipped the small talk, I grabbed the donuts and took them with me to bed, where I sat down and stretched my legs. Wyatt followed me and mirrored my moves, taking a seat next to me, the pink box in between our legs. I went for my favorite and he went for the chocolate covered one. We ate in silence for a while when he decided to start up a conversation.

"The Love Hypothesis" He read the book title as if it was an announcement. "What's that about?"

The fact that I'm an avid reader is a known fact to anyone who knows me, even if they don't know me in great depth. So it wasn't totally unexpected that he'd find that as a subject of conversation with me.

"It's a fake dating romance book. They start to develop feelings for one another. Actually," I add to correct myself. "The guy falls first, he's got a thing for her since they met a few years ago."

"Sounds cool." Was all Wyatt said before taking another bite of his donut. "I thought it was one of those self-help books, you know?"

He seemed a bit fazed, at unease, and it didn't take too long before an awkward silence set itself between us again. That was, until he found another theme to talk about.

"I didn't know you had requested a single room."

"Oh this is not a single room." I explained.

"Where's your roommate?"

I could tell him the truth and disclose that I had actually called and asked for a private room, but had to settle for one that was soon to be without a roommate because of the price. But that was going to raise questions I didn't feel like answering.

"She had to go back to her country. I didn't even get to meet her. So for now, I don't have one."

"Don't you think it'd be better if you did, though?" I shot him a confused look. "To help you adjust and all."

"I'm actually enjoying being alone. No one interrupts me when I'm reading." I grabbed another donut. "That is, except when someone knocks on my door carrying donuts."

"So, that's a valid interruption?"

I didn't have to think too hard on an answer. "It is."

* * *

author's note

so much is happening!!! and i definitely love that for them <3

question: do you like donuts? what's your favorite flavor?

thank u for reading LEOYAM, i really appreciate it ❤ and please don't forget to vote and leave a comment once in a while!

just a little small reminder that "The Love Hypothesis" is an amazing book by Ali Hazelwood and if you haven't read it then, what are you waiting for?

xoxo, mars