THIRTY DAYS TO REMEMBER

007-JUICE OVER COFFEE

JORDAN

I woke up earlier than usual that morning, earlier than even my alarm wanted me to be awake.

I dragged myself out of bed, showered, dressed, and headed to campus. The air was crisp, carrying that early-morning stillness that made the world feel like it was just mine. My sneakers crunched against the sidewalks, almost empty at this hour, and for a brief moment, I almost believed I had control over my day.

Until I walked into class and scanned the room.

Olivia wasn’t there. Not a single trace of her.

My chest tightened. My hands itched to pull out my phone. Where are you? I wanted to type. That simple, harmless question. But I didn’t. I shoved my hands into my pockets, telling myself to let it go. Patience, Jordan. Patience.

She was alive. Really alive. The thought made the corners of my mouth twitch, and a small, almost unnoticeable smile slipped through before I could stop it. I forced myself to breathe slowly, trying to act normal while every nerve in my body screamed her name.

“Hope you’re smiling because of me.”

My head jerked up, heart skipping a beat. Olivia. Standing there, leaning casually against the doorway.

My chest did that ridiculous flutter thing, the one that made me feel like a teenager again. She looked…different. Better. Not in a dramatic, unrecognizable way, but in a way that made me pause. She had that effortless glow that somehow made the air around her feel lighter, warmer. Every time I saw her, she got more beautiful.

“Of course not,” I said quickly, hoping my voice sounded calm and convincing. “Why in God’s name would I smile because of you?”

She laughed softly, a sound that had a dangerous way of pulling my focus from everything else. “Uh-huh. Sure. I totally believe that,” she said, tilting her head, those grey eyes sparkling. “You’ve been smiling like that since the second I walked in. Admit it.”

“I…uh…maybe the chair is uncomfortable,” I mumbled, gesturing vaguely to the seat. My mind immediately cursed me for sounding lame.

Her laugh got a little louder, more genuine, and she walked over, plopping down beside me like she owned the chair — no, like she owned my attention. “Uh-huh. Chair excuse. Classic Jordan,” she teased. “Nice try, though.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, but she wasn’t looking back. She was already fidgeting with her notebook, scribbling something. I couldn’t see.

Lecture started. Slowly. Torturously. I tried to pay attention, I really did. But she kept moving slightly in her seat, her elbow brushing mine, her thigh brushing against mine just enough to make my blood heat up in ways that made no sense. I shifted to create some distance. She didn’t notice.

“Jordan, are you even listening?” she whispered suddenly, leaning just enough that her lips were close to my ear.

“I…uh…of course,” I mumbled, my voice catching slightly.

“Mm-hmm. Sure,” she said, smirking. “Because staring into space totally counts as listening, right?”

I swallowed. “I wasn’t staring. I was…thinking.”

“Thinking about…?” She raised an eyebrow, that teasing glint that made me want to punch her playfully.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, but my face betrayed me, I’m sure.

She chuckled softly, settling back into her seat. “Right. Nothing.”

Every few minutes, she shifted, brushing against me in ways that made it impossible to concentrate. I clenched my fists under the desk, focusing on my notebook like it was the most important thing in the universe. But let’s be honest — she had me. Completely.

I leaned back, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest and the heat in my body, and silently cursed the fact that she looked so damn effortless while I was falling apart inside.

And the worst part? I didn’t want her to stop.

When class finally ended, Olivia jumped up like a spark had just ignited under her feet, her energy bouncing around the room. “I suggest we go to the café not too far from here for our tutoring,” she chirped, practically skipping toward the door.

I nodded, following her silently, my steps slower than hers. Every time she walked, she had this confident sway to her hips, effortless and yet impossible not to notice.

I’d caught myself staring more than once, and I’d admit, if anyone asked, that I could watch her all day and not get bored. Her hair bounced slightly as she moved, the strands catching the sunlight that filtered through the campus trees.

The café she picked was quieter than the one I’d suggested — calmer, more intimate. A place where we wouldn’t have a hundred strangers overhearing our conversations.

That, I concluded, was a smart choice. And I gave myself the small, silent satisfaction of admitting she had good taste.

She went straight to the counter, scanning the menu like she was studying for some secret test. Humming softly under her breath, she exuded that irritatingly effortless charm that made it impossible for me to look away.

I went to sit while pretending to examine a small plant on the side, but really, I was just watching her.

After a few minutes, she returned, holding a tray with a glint in her eyes that told me she knew exactly what she was doing.

“So…what would you like?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, that half-smile that had a way of making me forget the concept of calm.

“Nothing much,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You order. Whatever you think is good.”

Her grin widened — that infuriating, knowing grin — and she nodded once before walking back to the counter. I leaned back in my chair, trying to act composed, but my chest had other ideas.

A few minutes later, she returned, tray in hand. My eyes went wide as I took in the contents: a tall glass of orange juice, bright and perfectly chilled, alongside two muffins.

“How…how did you know I don’t like coffee?” I asked, genuinely curious and slightly impressed. Only a handful of people in the world knew that I preferred juice over coffee — Olivia had guessed.

She shrugged casually, plopping down across from me like she owned the space, her confidence radiating in waves. “I guessed,” she said simply, tilting her head with that air of certainty that always made me feel off-balance.

I stared at her for a moment, blinking, because of course she had to be perceptive — infuriatingly perceptive for her to guess this much.