ONCE UPON RASIMIE

The morning air at St. Helens University felt new, washed clean by the rain from the night before. Students filled the walkways, laughter and voices blending into the hum of a fresh semester. Rasimie walked quietly through the campus, her bag pressed to her side, her mind elsewhere. Everything around her looked alive — yet she felt oddly detached from it all. Her life was steady, comfortable, predictable. But deep down, she wanted something that would make her heart skip. Something real. That “something” arrived the moment she stepped into her first class. He came in just before the lecturer, tall and quiet, his black backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair unstyled, and yet there was something striking about him — the kind of calm that demanded attention without asking for it. He sat beside her. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at her. But Rasimie noticed the way his fingers tapped softly against his notebook, the small scar on his wrist, the faint tiredness in his eyes. Later, outside the class, she saw him again — leaning under a tree, earphones in, half lost in thought. “Hey,” she said, her voice smaller than she meant it to be. “You were in my class earlier.” He looked up, eyes steady. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Andrew.” She smiled. “Rasimie.” He gave a small nod and started to leave, but for some reason, she kept watching him — the way he moved, the quiet confidence that didn’t come from pride but from survival. She didn’t know it then, but that single moment — that first look — would change everything. Because from that day, her calm, easy world began to shift. And Andrew, the quiet, working-class boy who carried too much silence, would soon become the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about.