Unknown

THE FAMILIAR WARMTH

KEVIN

My room was too bright and smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner. It was the smell of a new, empty life I didn't ask for.

"Dude, are you sure you don't want to come to the quad?" Leo, my over-enthusiastic roommate, was already changed into a fresh T-shirt. "There's a DJ, free pizza... it's the full college experience!"

"I'm good," I muttered, not looking up from my suitcase.

"Your loss, man. I'm gonna go try to find my sister. You're sure you're good? You look... intense."

"I'm fine."

The door slammed shut, and the silence I'd been craving finally settled over the room. It wasn't just a preference; it was a necessity. Silence was where I could think, where I could plan. Noise was a distraction, and distractions were a liability, something that I don't want in my life. I let out a slow breath, my shoulders dropping an inch. I hadn't come here for "the college experience." That was a life that belonged to someone else, to a version of me who died a year ago.

I was here for a ghost.

I reached into the bottom of my bag and pulled out a small, worn wooden box. The polished mahogany was scuffed at the corners from years of use. It was my father's. It was the only thing I'd taken from his desk when I left home. Inside, under a few old cufflinks that still smelled faintly of his cologne, was a laminated newspaper clipping, folded so many times the creases were white and permanent.

I unfolded it. The headline screamed back at me: "TECH MAGNATE'S SHOCKING DOWNFALL." Beneath it, a picture of my father where he was smiling, confident and full of life. It was a picture from the company's 10-year gala. The company that he had built with his own hands and nourished with every ounce of his life. I had been there, just out of frame, a kid in a badly-fitting suit. That man in the photo was a titan, a good man who built an empire from nothing. A man who was dead six months after this photo was taken, his reputation in tatters, his name a synonym for failure.

A cold, familiar anger, sharp as glass, settled in my gut. I wasn't here for parties. I wasn't here for friends. I was here for the man who wrote this headline—not the reporter, but the man who caused it. The snake who was now, unbelievably, walking this very campus as a respected, beloved professor. The snake who smiled at my father at galas, the 'friendly rival' who praised his success in public and then, piece by piece, tore it all down in the shadows. The man who couldn't stand to see anyone else win.

I refolded the clipping, my fingers tracing the sharp edges. My mission was simple. Find him. Expose him. Make him pay. I just needed to stay focused. No attachments. No feelings. Just the mission.

My stomach rumbled, a pathetic, irritating betrayal from my own body. It was an annoyance, a weakness I had to deal with. Fine. I'd grab a coffee—black, fast—and get back to work.

MIA

The cafeteria was a wall of noise. I stood in the long coffee line, with Sofie chattering a mile a minute behind me about some party. I was only half-listening, my eyes scanning the crowd.

"Isn't this great?" she beamed. "A fresh start!"

"Yeah, it's..." I reached the front of the line. "One black coffee and one... oh, what do you want, Sofie?"

"Caramel macchiato with extra whip!"

"Okay, one black coffee and one caramel macchiato," I said to the barista. I fumbled in my bag for my wallet, my fingers closing around it. As I pulled it out, it slipped from my grasp, falling to the floor and skittering under the counter.

"Ugh, hold on," I sighed, dropping to my knees. I ducked my head, my hair falling into my face as I searched for it. Before I could even spot it, a hand appeared in my line of vision, holding my wallet out to me.

I looked up. "Oh, thank—"

My words died. I was looking up into the most intense eyes I had ever seen.

He was kneeling in front of me, so close that the rest of the cafeteria seemed to just... disappear. The noise, the chatter, all of it faded. He wasn't glaring. His expression was still, his gaze locked on mine, and in that moment, I felt the strangest thing.

It was a warmth. A deep, quiet, and unsettlingly familiar warmth that settled in my chest. It was the bizarre, impossible feeling of deja vu, as if I'd known these eyes my whole life. As if I was supposed to be right here, kneeling on this floor, looking at him. My heart didn't race; it just... settled.

He didn't move, just watched me, a flicker of that same disorienting confusion in his own eyes. I found my voice, though it came out as a whisper.

"Hi."

A beat of silence passed. Then, his expression softened. The tension around his mouth eased, and a small, almost rusty smile touched his lips. It was as if the muscles weren't used to it, but it transformed his entire face. It was, I decided, quite possibly the cutest, most heart-stopping smile in the world.

"Hi," he replied, his voice low and quiet.

I couldn't help but smile back. We were just two people, kneeling on a dirty cafeteria floor, lost in this strange, silent bubble.

"Black coffee!" the barista called out, shattering the moment.

We both stood up abruptly. "That's mine," he said, the smile fading slightly as he turned to the counter.

"Caramel macchiato!" the barista called next.

"Mine!" Sofie chirped. In her impatience to grab her drink, she lunged forward, not seeing that I was still standing there. She tripped hard over my foot and slammed directly into Kevin's back, right as he was turning around with his full, scalding-hot cup.

The plastic cup crumpled. Hot coffee exploded everywhere—all over his dark hoodie, his hand, and my arm.

"Agh!" he hissed, dropping the cup and staggering back.

"Oh my god!" Sofie shrieked, instantly defensive. "Watch where you're going! You totally just stepped in front of me!"

"What? No, you tripped over me!" I protested, looking at Kevin. "I'm so, so sorry, are you okay?"

The transformation was instant and absolute. The man with the warm, familiar eyes was gone. The smile was a distant memory. His face was a mask of cold, white-hot fury. He looked at his hand, red and dripping, and then shot Sofie a look of pure ice.

He ignored her completely. His eyes landed on my arm, where the coffee had splashed me. His angry expression softened, just for a fraction of a second. Without a word, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a clean, folded black handkerchief. He pushed it into my free hand, his fingers purposefully not touching mine.

Then he turned to Sofie. He didn't say a word. He just started walking, and as he passed her, he slammed his shoulder into hers, a deliberate, aggressive bump that sent her staggering back a step.

"Hey!" Sofie shrieked after his retreating back, loud enough for half the cafeteria to turn and look. "What the hell is your problem? You can't just burn people and leave like that!"

She spun around to me, her eyes wide with performative disbelief, clearly playing to the audience of strangers now watching us.

"Oh my god, Mia, did you see that? He's totally crazy! He spills hot coffee all over us and then shoves me! For no reason! What a psycho!"

I just stood there, my arm stinging, the soft handkerchief clutched in my hand. I looked at Sofie's dramatic, outraged face, then at the empty doorway he had disappeared through, my heart completely bewildered by the whiplash.