Threads of Destiny

7

In the lecture halls, Baron was a shadow. He listened, he wrote notes, he answered when called on, but otherwise he blended into the rows of students. His presence was polite, contained, forgettable.

The labs were different.

The moment his fingers touched the keyboard, something changed. His concentration narrowed, the noise of the room fell away, and it was just him and the screen. Lines of code flowed, precise and clean, his logic unbroken. Bugs that tangled others for hours unraveled under his hands in minutes.

At first, no one noticed. The labs were noisy, filled with clicking keys and frustrated groans. But slowly, as results appeared on Baron’s monitor — programs running smoothly, assignments finished long before the deadline — people began to glance his way.

“Already done?” one boy asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Baron gave a small shrug, as if it were nothing. “It worked.”

When the professor circulated, peering at half-finished tasks, he paused at Baron’s station. His brows lifted. “Efficient,” he murmured, tapping the screen. “And elegant.”

Baron said nothing, only pressed submit and leaned back.

By the end of the week, his reputation had shifted again. Quiet in theory, but in practice… brilliant. The kind of student people began to ask for help. The kind whose name was whispered with a mix of admiration and curiosity.

Baron didn’t seek it. He never did. But it followed him anyway, as if excellence, in any form, refused to let him go.

---

The lab was unusually tense that afternoon. The assignment was a deceptively simple problem: build a program to process a long list of inputs and sort them under multiple conditions.

By the half-hour mark, the air was thick with sighs and muttered curses. Screens flashed error messages, loops spun endlessly, and half the class wore the same frown of frustration.

Appie tapped her pencil against her notebook, staring at the jumble of code on her monitor. She had tried three different approaches, each collapsing in its own spectacular way. The more she poked at it, the less sense it made.

Then she noticed him.

At the back of the room, Baron Blaise leaned back in his chair, arms folded loosely. His screen glowed with the clean output of a finished program — sorted lists scrolling neatly, not a single error in sight. He hadn’t even looked strained, she realized. Just… focused. And now, done.

Appie hesitated for a beat. She wasn’t used to asking for help — usually, people came to her. But something about the calm way Baron sat there made her curious, almost pulled her toward him.

She slid out of her chair and crossed the room. “Hey,” she said, stopping by his desk. “You finished?”

Baron glanced up, surprised. His gray-blue eyes were steady but reserved. “Yes.”

Appie leaned a little closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Can I take a look? Mine’s a disaster.”

For a second, he seemed about to refuse — then he turned his screen slightly toward her. The code was clear, logical, each function purposeful. Appie’s brows lifted.

“Wow. You make it look easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Baron said quietly, though his tone was matter-of-fact rather than modest. “You just have to think about what the computer actually sees. Not what you want it to see.”

Appie tilted her head, considering that. Then she smiled — bright, genuine. “That’s… oddly profound.”

A faint flicker passed across his face, almost amusement, almost surprise.

Back at her desk, Appie tried again, applying his advice. For the first time, her program began to behave. She couldn’t help glancing back at him once, noting how he had already opened another window, absorbed in something else.

Quiet, brilliant, and apparently willing to help if asked.

Appie’s curiosity deepened.

---

The lab session ended, students streaming out with relief, still muttering about the cursed assignment. Baron lingered at his desk, sliding his laptop into his bag with unhurried motions.

“Hey.”

He looked up. Appie stood there, hands on her hips, her smile bright as ever. “I realized I never even asked your name earlier. I’m Appie.”

“Baron,” he said simply.

“Baron,” she repeated, testing it with a tilt of her head. “That suits you.” She grinned, then nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

His brows drew together. “Where?”

“Coffee. My favorite café. A bunch of us go there after labs. You’re coming.”

He opened his mouth — probably to protest — but Appie was already looping her arm through his, steering him toward the door with practiced ease. “Don’t even think about saying no. You helped me, so this is your reward. Pastries, caffeine, and questionable conversation.”

Baron allowed himself to be pulled along, though his expression was equal parts wary and amused.

The café was a short walk from campus, tucked beneath striped awnings and spilling warm light onto the cobblestones. Inside, her friends were already gathered around two tables pushed together, laughing too loudly over steaming cups.

“Everyone, this is Baron,” Appie announced as if she were presenting a guest of honor. “He’s the genius who cracked the impossible lab today. He’s sitting with us.”

The group cheered in welcome, pulling over a chair. Baron hesitated for only a second before lowering himself into the seat.

Appie slid into the spot across from him, chin propped on her hand, watching with that same bright curiosity. She could already tell: he wasn’t like the others. He wouldn’t fight for attention, wouldn’t play to the room. But he was interesting — and that, for Appie, was enough reason to keep him close.