Chapter 9
1139 Words
Three weeks into the semester, I had developed a routine.
Mornings began with coffee and textbook reading at the library. My roommates were three other girls who were okay, I guess.
Linda was an engineering major who stayed up past midnight, her desk lamp always the last one on.
Taylor, a med student, woke before everyone else, her alarm cutting through the room at 5 a.m. sharp.
And then there was Kira…
I still didn’t know what she studied, but she sang. A lot. Softly sometimes, like a hum under her breath, and other times loud enough to fill the entire room.
I didn’t mind. She was good.
It made the space feel… lively.
I usually had breakfast at a diner or read at the library, absorbing information about memory formation, cognitive development, and the biological bases of behavior.
Classes filled my afternoons. Introduction to Psychology on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Research Methods on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Each lecture added new layers to my understanding, new questions to explore.
Evenings were for studying with Maya. We would claim a corner of the university library and quiz each other on terminology, debate theoretical perspectives, and occasionally get distracted by topics that had nothing to do with psychology at all.
It was easy with her.
On most weekends, I helped my aunt with household tasks, played games with the twins, and tried to remember what relaxation felt like when human spaces felt overwhelming.
It was a good routine. A healing routine.
My wolf had grown calmer—but not absent.
She stayed quiet in human spaces, not out of boredom, but restraint.
Still… she noticed everything
Sometimes even before I did. Lingering gazes. Shifts in scent.
Most humans didn’t know how to control the scent of their emotions.
She picked up on it easily—
the shifts, the tension, the quiet tells people thought no one noticed.
She didn’t react to much.
But she watched.
She had entirely accepted what I had been slower to admit: Alec was not coming. He had never been ours, not really.
Or perhaps we had never been his.
The distinction mattered more than I had expected.
One Thursday afternoon, I stayed late after Research Methods to ask Dr. Chen about a concept I hadn't fully grasped. By the time I left the building, the sky had darkened to purple and the campus was nearly empty.
I was taking a shortcut through the science quad when I saw him.
Rowan.
He was sitting on a bench near the fountain, a book open in his lap, apparently lost in thought. The lamplight caught the angles of his face, softening them into something almost gentle.
I almost turned back.
Not because I didn’t want to talk to him ...but because something in me paused.
Should I approach him? We had spoken twice more on the phone since that first call, brief conversations about classes and books, and nothing in particular. But we hadn't seen each other in person since the café.
Before I could decide, he looked up.
"Christy?"
Too late to escape now.
"Hi, Rowan." I walked toward him, trying to appear casual. "What are you doing here?"
"I had a meeting with the education department." He held up his book. "Thought I'd read for a bit before heading home. What about you?"
"Late class."
He shifted on the bench, making room. "Want to sit?"
I sat.
The evening was cool but not cold, the kind of autumn weather that made you want to stay outside just a little longer. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the fountain's water catch the lamplight.
"How are classes going?" he asked.
"Really well, actually. I just had Research Methods. We're learning about experimental design."
"The foundation of psychological science."
"Exactly." I turned to look at him. "Wow, you're really enthusiastic about psychology. You know a lot. How did you learn so much?"
He laughed at first then he got quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I took psychology courses in university. Before I became a teacher. I was trying to understand something."
"Understand what?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Someone," he said finally. "Someone I loved."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I didn't know what to say, didn't know if I should ask more or let the silence stand.
His loss sounded… final.
Mine didn’t.
Mine felt unfinished. Like a door that had been slammed shut without warning—no explanation, no closure.
Just absence.
"She passed away," Rowan continued quietly. "A few years ago. I thought if I understood others, I could understand why she was taken. Why she suffered?"
"I'm sorry."
I had always known he was a werewolf.
His sandalwood scent was faint—steady, grounded.
My wolf noticed.
She didn’t pull toward him.
But she didn’t pull away either.
It felt… unfamiliar.
Still, I had never asked about his pack, his family, or why he left. I didn't dare. I was scared to share about mine so it would be unfair to ask him.
"Thank you." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I never found the answers I was looking for. But I found other things. Understanding. Compassion. A way to help others, even if I couldn't help her."
I thought about my own reasons for choosing psychology. My own desperate search for answers.
"Is that why you became a teacher?"
"Partly. Teaching lets me make a difference, even if it's small. Even if it's just helping one student understand something they didn't understand before."
"That doesn't sound small to me."
He looked at me then, really looked, and something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. Understanding.
"You're going to be a good psychologist, Christy."
"How do you know?"
"Because you listen. Really listen. That's rarer than you might think."
The compliment warmed something in my chest. Not the burning heat of the romance, nothing so consuming. Just a gentle warmth, like sunlight through glass.
"Thank you, Rowan."
We talked for another hour. About psychology, about teaching, about the twins and their endless energy. He told me about his favorite books, and I told him about Maya and our library study sessions. The conversation flowed easily, naturally, without the weight of expectation or obligation.
By the time we parted ways, the moon had risen high above the campus.
"This was nice," I said as we stood to leave. "Talking to you."
"It was nice for me too." He smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "We should do this more often."
"I'd like that."
As I walked home, I found myself smiling.
Not because of fate. Not because of destiny.
Just because I had made a friend. At least I think so, Rowan was a friend. Or at least… I wanted him to be.
- Writer
