Chapter 7: The First Checkmate
1403 Words
Max’s Point of View (Flashback)
College campus, late afternoon. Slight breeze. The kind of day that usually felt like every other.
Maxwell Soriano sat under the shade of the acacia tree near the engineering building, glasses perched on his nose, locked in a quiet chess match with Paul. It was a boring day, but boring didn’t bother Max. He thrived in quiet routines. Predictability. Precision. Numbers and logic—those never disappointed.
He moved his bishop with careful calculation.
“Check,” he said, and Paul groaned.
Then, laughter erupted in the distance—high-pitched, chaotic, lively.
Max glanced up and instantly regretted it.
Four girls were strutting across the courtyard like sunshine in human form. His cousin Kaia was among them—he recognized her wild hand gestures and loud voice. The other three? Unknown to him, but clearly not unknown to the rest of campus. Guys’ eyes followed them, some pretending not to look, most failing.
They were holding pompoms. Pompoms. Like it was a school festival. They were cheering for the guys playing basketball nearby, half-joking, half-serious.
It was ridiculous.
It was loud.
It was… distracting.
Then—whump.
A bright blue pompom landed right on their chessboard, scattering two pieces.
Paul startled. “Hey, watch it!”
Max was about to roll his eyes when someone hurried over.
Her.
She bent slightly, breathless, eyes on the pompom. She picked it up, then glanced at them—
And smiled.
“Sorry! My bad!”
Just one smile. That’s all it took. One innocent, casual, nothing-special kind of smile.
Max forgot how to breathe.
Her hair was tied up in a messy bun. She wore no makeup, just a plain tank top and a skirt. But she glowed. Not in a sparkle-filter kind of way—more like a warmth that you only notice when it hits you directly.
“Thanks,” she added before turning around and skipping back to her friends like she hadn’t just stopped the world for someone else.
Paul was staring at Max now.
“Bro.”
Max didn’t respond.
“You okay?”
Still nothing.
Paul leaned in and smirked. “You’re staring. Hard.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Dude. I think you glitched. Who is she?”
Max blinked, as if waking up. “I don’t know.”
“That’s Cleo Voltaire. You seriously don’t know her?”
Cleo. The name echoed in his head.
He watched her reunite with her friends, laughing like a little kid who never got embarrassed, never held back.
She was nothing like the girls who chased him. The girls who dressed up for attention, who flipped their hair and laughed too loudly at his jokes.
Cleo didn’t even notice him.
And somehow, that made her unforgettable.
That was the moment.
It wasn’t love.
Not yet.
But it was the start of something dangerously close.
One week later. Engineering library. Rainy afternoon.
Max wasn’t the type to “look for people.” He didn’t linger in canteens or stroll through halls hoping to “accidentally” run into someone. That wasn’t his thing.
But ever since the pompom incident, Cleo had lived rent-free in his mind.
He didn’t even know why. It was ridiculous.
One smile. Just one.
Yet here he was—back in the engineering library, earlier than usual. Not even because of exams. Just because… well, it had a decent view of the Humanities building. And if she happened to pass by again, that wouldn’t be the worst thing.
He had books open in front of him. Pages turned. But he hadn’t read a word.
Then, the door creaked open.
Speak of the devil.
She stepped inside, dripping a little from the rain, hugging a navy blue hoodie to her chest. Her messy bun had half-fallen apart, strands stuck to her forehead. She looked slightly lost.
Max stiffened.
She walked toward the front desk. “Hi! Sorry, this isn’t my department. But do you guys have a copy of the civil codes? For like, law?”
The student librarian frowned. “This is engineering.”
“Oh. Right.” She giggled. “My friend said I might find it here. Ugh. I’m useless.”
Max stood. He didn’t think—just moved.
“They moved that collection to the annex building,” he said, his voice lower than he expected. "Second floor. West wing.”
Cleo turned around.
She blinked at him.
Then—recognition.
“You!” she gasped, pointing. “Chessboard guy! The pompom victim!”
Max cleared his throat. “That was... nothing. You kind of destroyed my game though.”
“Oh no! I did, didn’t I?” she clutched her heart, mock-dramatic. “I feel like I owe you coffee.”
Max blinked.
What?
What did she just say?
Did she just—
“I mean—” she backtracked. “Not like a date coffee. More like an apology coffee.”
Max felt his mouth twitch. A rare smile.
“I don’t drink coffee,” he said.
“Oh.”
“…But I do like hot chocolate.”
She grinned. “Well, then. As a law-abiding citizen, I guess I’ll have to buy you one.”
And just like that, the logic-loving, career-bound, stone-faced Max Soriano found himself walking beside a storm-soaked girl with sunshine in her voice… all the way to the nearest café, trying not to show how fast his heart was beating.
The arts building was louder than he expected. Smelled weird too. Like varnish and glue sticks and something burnt.
Max adjusted his grip on the books in his arms. This was a mistake.
He should’ve walked past Leandro when he mentioned the club needed an extra hand. He didn’t do “clubs.” He didn’t even like theater. But he’d run out of excuses, and Leandro had insisted. Said they needed someone smart for the logistics. Said it would look good on his profile.
So here he was. Standing like an i***t in the doorway of chaos.
Four girls were scattered around the room—barefoot, paint-splattered, loud.
One was waving a cardboard sword in the air like she was leading a battle in a fantasy novel. Her voice rang out, dramatic and ridiculous.
“Behold! The mighty blade of... whatever this thing is supposed to be!”
The others cracked up laughing.
Max wanted to turn around and leave.
But then she turned.
The sword girl.
Paint on her cheek. Hair tied up in a bun with pencils stuck through it. Her laugh was light and reckless. Her smile—wide, real.
She was… luminous.
Max didn’t realize he was staring until Kaia, his cousin, smirked at him and whispered something to her friend.
He caught the word's chess club energy and kitten. Great.
The girl with the sword walked up to him.
“Hi. Welcome to chaos,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Cleo.”
Cleo.
The name felt soft. Like honey. Or velvet. Or something dangerous.
He took her hand. It was warm. Real.
“Max,” he said quickly, barely keeping his voice from cracking. “I… uh… heard this club needed more backstage help.”
Cleo smiled again—and just like that, something in his chest flickered. Like a switch. Like something waking up.
Then her phone buzzed.
He watched her glance at the screen. And everything changed.
Her eyes lit up in a different way. Not for him.
She turned away, whispered into the phone. And when she turned back, she was floating.
“Guys, I need to go. Emergency… family thing.”
Lies.
Everyone seemed to know it, but no one called her out.
Except Max—he didn’t know the truth. Not really. But he felt it. Something had shifted. Something had slipped away before he could even hold it.
He watched her run out of the room like she was heading somewhere magic.
He didn’t know where. He didn’t know who. But he knew—she wasn’t his.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Still, he stayed.
Still, he watched.
Because something about Cleo made Max believe that maybe—if he stayed long enough, helped enough, waited enough—she might look at him again. The way she did the first time.
Before the phone call.
Before the lie.
Before her world turned into something he could never quite reach.
- Writer
