First Encounter
1375 Words
My alarm went off like it was personally offended by my existence.
The stupid thing was screaming under my pillow, vibrating like it wanted to burrow into the mattress. I groaned, slapped my hand across the sheets like I was chasing a toddler on the loose, and finally dragged the phone out.
7:03 a.m.
Fourth day of house hunting.
Fourth day of nothing.
I forced myself out of bed. My hair actually behaved today — a small miracle. After a quick shower, I pulled on a cream sweater, high-waisted jeans, and my cleanest pair of sneakers. I checked myself in the mirror one last time. Presentable. Awake-ish. Surviving.
Breakfast was a simple sandwich I threw together in thirty seconds. I downed it, grabbed my backpack, and stepped out into the cold air that slapped me like it had been waiting all night.
Great. Perfect start.
The bus station was already full of half-asleep students and people pretending they had their lives together. I squeezed inside, found a seat, and finally unlocked my phone.
One message.
Of course. Valerie.
VALERIE: “Outside tonight? Please say yes before I start crying.”
I snorted. As if I had the energy.
ME: “Scholarship stuff is eating my life and I’m supposed to finish it tonight. Rain check, please.”
She replied instantly.
VALERIE: “Babe your whole existence is a rain check.”
I rolled my eyes and locked my phone. The bus moved. Campus slowly swallowed us.
The moment I stepped into the hallway, chaos greeted me like a warm hug.
Two students were arguing about astrology — loudly.
Someone was straight-up crying over an exam grade.
A random guy was passionately debating whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
College energy at its finest.
I grabbed a free apple from the student table, slipped into my finance lecture, and sank into my usual seat. Valerie wasn’t in yet. The professor wasn’t in yet. So for a moment — just a small, quiet moment — I let myself imagine a different life.
What it would feel like to have a family.
A real one.
A mother who didn’t leave me with a lifetime of questions.
A father who wasn’t a mystery.
Somewhere soft to land.
Then Valerie slid into the seat beside me, glowing like she’d slept eight perfect hours and had a balanced breakfast made by angels.
“Hey, zombie,” she whispered. “You look alive today. What happened? Divine intervention?”
I snorted. “I ate bread. Miracles.”
We bantered, laughed about absolutely nothing, and for a second I forgot life was pressing down on my neck.
The professor walked in. Class started. Numbers, charts, economic projections. Blah blah blah. Finance things.
After class, I packed up and headed toward the library, mentally preparing myself for hours of scholarship research. Halfway there, my phone buzzed.
Aunt Marlene.
Of course.
AUNT MARLENE: “Three days left. Don’t forget.”
My stomach twisted. I shoved the phone back in my bag and kept walking before panic could climb onto my shoulders like it usually did.
The library was quiet enough to hear my thoughts — unfortunately. I settled into a corner, opened my laptop, and began researching scholarships until my eyeballs felt dry.
Ping. Ping. My phone buzzed. The real estate agent.
AGENT: Hi Aria, the apartment at 72 West End Ave is available. Within your budget. Want me to send pictures?
I barely breathed. Within my budget? This had to be a mistake.
ME: Yes, please.
Photos streamed in—every angle, every corner. My jaw nearly hit the floor.
Wide windows, sunlight spilling onto cream walls. Warm wood floors. A kitchen that didn’t look like it was from 1998. Marble countertops, matte black fixtures. Minimalist, sleek, quiet-luxury vibes.
I double-checked the price. It was… actually correct.
ME: This… is real?
AGENT: I promise. Honestly, it’s been on the market a while. Quick decision wins.
ME: Can I schedule a virtual walkthrough?
AGENT: Of course. When are you free?
ME: Now? I’m ready.
Five minutes later, a short video call began. The agent walked me through the apartment, panning slowly, pointing out features, answering my rapid-fire questions. Every corner looked exactly like the pictures.
ME: And the rent… is it really… this much?
AGENT: Yes. $2,100 a month, all-inclusive. Amazing for this area, I know.
I choked on my own excitement. “All-inclusive” sounded like a dream.
ME (thinking): Okay, Aria, stop overthinking. Just… do it.
ME (text): I’ll take it. How do I pay?
AGENT: I’ll send you a secure link. Credit card or bank transfer.
ME: Bank transfer.
Two minutes later, confirmation pinged. Payment done. Apartment secured.
I slumped back into my chair, letting the relief wash over me. A place. My place. Finally.
Ping.
AGENT: Congratulations! Keys and contract will be ready.
I grinned like an i***t.
ME (thinking): Okay, maybe surviving isn’t impossible after all.
I hadn’t felt that much relief in months.
I kept researching for a little while — not because I needed to, but because I didn’t trust sitting still with my own joy.
I got to work a little before my shift. Leo looked up from behind the counter, looking like he was on the verge of fighting someone.
“You good?” I asked.
“If one more person orders a ‘decaf iced caramel macchiato with no coffee,’ I’m walking out,” he said.
A customer yelled “HELLO??” from the back.
Leo sighed. “See? It’s happening. Pray for me.”
I laughed and got behind the counter.
After my shift, I stopped at a small store across the street to buy toothpaste. Simple, harmless. I wasn’t expecting anything dramatic.
Then I stepped outside and walked straight into someone — hard.
My bag slipped. My phone almost flew. I staggered back.
He didn’t even look fazed.
Tall. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. Expensive-looking headphones.
Zero manners.
He barely blinked. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Are you serious?” I snapped.
He finally looked at me — not apologetic, just… mildly annoyed, like I’d bumped into his ego.
“Sorry,” he said, flat and empty, like the word meant absolutely nothing. Then he walked past me like I wasn’t even there.
Wow.
Okay.
Rude.
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my past life.
My phone rang — Valerie.
“Hey,” I answered, still irritated.
“You sound tense. Did someone breathe wrong in your direction again?”
“I bumped into a guy who thinks he owns the sidewalk,” I muttered, dragging my bag down the street. “Didn’t even apologize properly. Just—‘sorry’ like he was swatting a fly.”
“Men,” she sighed dramatically. “Lowercase.”
I snorted, which turned into a full laugh. “Ugh. It was so… rude. And cocky. Like, excuse me, I have noodles to cook and a life to ruin, thank you very much.”
“You’re in such a mood today,” she teased. “Do I need to come rescue you from humanity?”
“Yes. Please. Bring a hazmat suit,” I said. “Also, coffee. And chocolate. And a small parade of people who understand boundaries.”
“Parade noted. Can I volunteer as grand marshal?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, grinning despite myself. “But you’ll need to march while holding my existential dread in one hand and my leftover granola in the other.”
We talked for a while, laughing at ridiculous things, sharing tiny victories and minor disasters of the day. Valerie’s voice was that comforting mix of calm and chaos I always needed.
On the bus ride home, I finally exhaled.
The windows were fogged. The sky looked tired. People were quiet — either scrolling or sleeping. And for the first time in days, I let myself feel something like relief.
I had an apartment.
A place.
A starting point.
Life was still messy.
Still heavy.
Still uncertain.
But today… today felt like progress.
I leaned my head against the window and let the city lights blur into soft, glowing streaks.
Maybe survival wasn’t pretty.
But it was movement.
And movement was enough.
- Writer
