OLIVIA
Jordan never replied to my text. Not last night. Not this morning. Not even a single dot of acknowledgment. And yes, it frustrated me. The kind of frustration that sits in your stomach like a bad meal.
I stared at my phone for the hundredth time as I walked toward the main building, hoping, maybe, a reply would magically appear. Nothing. Just my stupid message staring back at me.
God, what was I even thinking sending that? I sounded like a jealous ex. Or worse — a desperate crush.
By the time I got to campus, I’d already decided to delete his number and pretend like the whole thing never happened. That was the plan...until I saw him.
He was standing near the faculty office, talking to one of our lecturers. Tall, calm, hands in his pockets, wearing that quiet confidence tha
