CHAPTER THREE (C)
952 Words
The following Monday morning arrived with a blanket of pale mist hanging over Westbridge.
The university grounds looked almost dreamlike.
Golden leaves clung stubbornly to ancient oak trees while others drifted lazily across the stone pathways, crunching beneath the feet of students hurrying toward their morning lectures.
Evelyn adjusted the strap of her satchel as she crossed the courtyard.
She hadn’t slept nearly enough.
Not after spending almost three hours talking to Daniel.
Every time she had closed her eyes, she’d replayed fragments of their conversation.
“I really hoped I’d see that girl again.”
She smiled despite herself.
“Someone’s happy.”
Charlotte nudged her shoulder as they walked.
“I’m always happy.”
“No.”
Charlotte studied her carefully.
“You’re glowing.”
“I am not.”
“You’ve smiled at your phone six times since breakfast.”
“It was four.”
Charlotte stopped walking.
“You counted?”
Realising what she’d admitted, Evelyn buried her face in her scarf.
“I walked into that one.”
“You certainly did.”
Charlotte laughed, linking her arm through Evelyn’s.
“So…”
“What’s his name?”
Evelyn looked ahead.
“What makes you think there’s a ‘he’?”
“The smile.”
“What smile?”
“The one you’re trying very hard to pretend you don’t have.”
Evelyn shook her head, unable to suppress another grin.
“His name is Daniel.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows lifted.
“The mystery man has a name.”
“He’s not a mystery man.”
“Then who is he?”
Evelyn searched for the right answer.
“A friend.”
Charlotte gave her a knowing look.
“A friend who keeps you awake until nearly three in the morning?”
“…Maybe.”
“Mm-hmm.”
⸻
Daniel was already outside the History building when her lecture ended.
Leaning casually against the stone wall with a takeaway coffee in one hand, he looked up the moment students began spilling out through the doors.
His eyes found hers almost immediately.
As though they always would.
He smiled.
“There you are.”
Evelyn slowed to a stop.
“Were you waiting long?”
“About ten minutes.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of his answer made her heart flutter.
He held out the second coffee.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“So I guessed.”
She accepted it carefully.
“You bought me coffee?”
“I hope that’s alright.”
“It is.”
She looked down at the cup.
“Thank you.”
“It’s only coffee.”
“It isn’t.”
Daniel tilted his head.
“No?”
“It’s thoughtful.”
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
Then a faint blush crept into his cheeks.
“You’re welcome.”
⸻
They walked without deciding where they were going.
That quickly became their habit.
One of them would ask, “Are you free?”
The other would nod.
Then they would simply start walking.
Sometimes toward the library.
Sometimes through the botanical gardens behind the science faculty.
Sometimes across the old stone bridge overlooking the river that cut through Westbridge.
The destination never seemed to matter.
Conversation filled every space between them.
“So,” Daniel asked, sipping his coffee.
“What would your perfect day look like?”
She considered the question.
“I’d wake up late.”
He looked horrified.
“Late?”
She laughed.
“Very late.”
“I already dislike this plan.”
“I’d read for a while.”
“Acceptable.”
“Then I’d visit a bookshop.”
“Better.”
“And finish the day somewhere quiet.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the river.
“Somewhere I could hear water.”
Daniel smiled.
“I think you’d like Willow Quay.”
“What’s that?”
“My favourite place in Westbridge.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“That’s because most students don’t know it exists.”
He glanced at her.
“I’ll show you one day.”
Something about the promise settled warmly inside her.
Not because of the place.
Because she realised she wanted to discover the town through his eyes.
⸻
Over the following weeks, they became an unspoken fixture on campus.
If Daniel finished his lectures first, he’d wait outside Evelyn’s department.
If Evelyn happened to leave early, she’d wander toward the library, almost certain she’d find him there.
Sometimes they studied.
More often, they distracted one another.
“You’ve read the same paragraph three times,” Daniel whispered one afternoon.
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“I’m concentrating.”
“You’ve been looking at the same sentence for five minutes.”
She sighed dramatically.
“It’s a very interesting sentence.”
“It says, ‘Chapter Four.’”
She looked down.
It did.
Daniel laughed so loudly that several students glanced over from neighbouring tables.
She kicked him gently beneath the desk.
“You’re impossible.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And yet…”
He closed his book.
“…you still choose to spend time with me.”
Evelyn looked at him.
The words should have been playful.
Instead, they carried an unexpected vulnerability.
She smiled.
“I do.”
Neither of them realised that, somewhere between shared coffees, library whispers, riverside walks and conversations that stretched beyond midnight, friendship had quietly begun transforming into something neither of them had intended.
There had been no grand confession.
No dramatic first kiss.
Just a hundred ordinary moments that, stitched together, slowly became extraordinary.
- Writer
