Fate And Mystery

Scoring a date under the Super moon

“Wait, what?” Isha said, his surprise entirely genuine, the evening light flashing over his lanky figure. “Don’t tell me you’ve already made the bold move and scored a date with her already? Guess you don’t need my help anymore, man. You’re such a champ!”

“You’re still paying for the porridge! It wasn't for free, remember?" Matthias reminded him of their pact "It's tip time, buddy! I just need to know how to not make a fool of myself. I don't have the slightest idea on how to start a conversation with a lady. I stutter at the sight of Laila. When she came by at the pitch, it was like an angel descended from heaven, and I died and resurrected right there. She'll be here any minute, so give me the tips you promised!”

Isha cleared his throat dramatically in an act of sudden, self-proclaimed professionalism, tugging unnecessarily at his collar. “Well, my friend, the first, foundational thing you do when starting a conversation with a lady is to compliment her.”

“Compliment?” Matthias asked, skeptical but eager.

“Yes, buddy, a compliment! You see, first impressions matter. Your posture, your composure, the frequency of your words—not too fast, not slow, just steady and authoritative. And confidence, of course, be grounded. And don’t forget the joke-and-smile weapon!” Isha delivered the advice with the seriousness of a seasoned life coach.

“Don’t tell me this is the crap you read in your shitty, ten-year-old men’s magazine journal, because there’s no way in hell that’s going to work,” Matthias retorted, his voice rising in panic.

Isha gave him a look of deep, wounded distinction. “Do you want the tips, or not, Genius? Watch the master and learn. Come up with a sweet line. Something that says something about the evening, or her dress. Let’s say, ‘The evening breeze sure is beautiful today, but your sight is even more beautiful.’ Or, if you’re feeling bold, you can say, ‘You’re like a beautiful evergreen field, can I humbly graze in your soft pastures?’”

Matthias’s brows furrowed in pure disgust. “This is not a circus, Clown. No chance in hell am I saying that to Laila! Are you sure you’ve ever scored a date with a lady, because you sound like a rejected stand-up comedian!”

Isha sighed, throwing his hands up in resignation. “Okay, Newton, since you know it all, good luck, you’re doing great! Maybe you just need a little stimulant, like a drink, or something to boost your self-esteem…”

Isha’s voice suddenly muted, his eyes widening in awe. He froze, his head tilted slightly. He whispered, his tone suddenly low and respectful, “Matt. Look.”

Matthias turned sharply toward the Founder’s Circle. A slender silhouette was approaching along the cobbled pathway. It was Laila, her figure illuminated by the soft, warm reflection of the overhead lamps from the school. She was a natural beauty to behold, even from a distance.

Matthias immediately shrank inside, the pressure becoming instantly intense and suffocating. He was a blobber fish out of water, unable to take a single, purposeful step.

“Hey, buddy, now’s your chance! The coast is clear. I’m rooting for you, now move it!” Isha whispered urgently, tugging at the arm of the frozen Matthias.

“Hell no! This is bad! We gotta go! This is not going to work!” Matthias replied in a strangled voice of pure frustration, attempting to turn back and retreat into the shadows.

But Isha wasn't about to lose the tip and the salmon stew. With a sudden, perfect nudge, he shoved Matthias with just enough force to send him stumbling out of the alley and into the open light.

Laila turned sharply at the rustle of movement, and her face broke into a reserved smile as she recognized Matthias.

Matthias was now fully exposed, in a state of silent, internal panic: "If I perish, I perish."

Isha gave one last word of triumphant encouragement before he vanished completely back into the darkness of the alley.

“Way to go, Champ!”

“Hey, over here?”

Laila’s voice, a soft, melodic call across the tranquil expanse of the Founder’s Square, sliced through Matthias’s spiraling anxiety. He watched her from the shadows of the dormitory entrance. She was perched on the edge of a weathered, concrete bench, the kind that had probably survived three headmasters. Her head tilted back slightly, catching the luminous glow of the full moon—a magnificent, impossibly large 'super moon' tonight. She played absently with a strand of her dark hair, wrapping it around her finger with a casual grace that seemed utterly devastating to Matthias’s nervous system.

He gulped, a dry, loud sound in the sudden silence of the evening. This was it. A first. A dream come true, yes, but also the greatest nightmare; a moment he had only mapped out in the theoretical safety of his mind, never expecting the terrifying reality. The air felt thick, charged with potential energy.

'Isha must be enjoying my slow, agonizing humiliation from the comfort of the dark, filming it for posterity,' he thought, his jaw clenching. He took a deep, shaky breath, straightened his shoulders—a poor attempt at bravery—and plastered on what he hoped was a friendly, casual smile.

He advanced, the gravel crunching unforgivingly beneath his shoes, each step a countdown to emotional catastrophe.

“Laila. What’s up? I was thinking you might be a no-show ,” he managed, shrugging with practiced indifference that felt anything but. It was a quick one, a small victory of forced nonchalance.

She smirked, a knowing, beautiful curve of her lips as her eyes remained playfully shut for a beat too long. That simple gesture sent Matthias's heart rate soaring into the red zone.

'You got this, Matt. Genius-level IQ, remember? Just apply some social engineering. Get into the mood.' He gave himself the silent, mandatory pep talk.

She finally opened her eyes, their warm, dark color reflecting the moonlight. “How’s your ankle? Still hurting?” Her voice was immediately laced with genuine concern, a gentle understanding that melted away a layer of his panic.

“Yeah, kinda. Thought it was broken, though. Gave me the chills,” he replied, scratching the back of his head, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to break. He drew closer, finally entering the intimate, closerange quarter of the bench.

“Be sure to take care of it, Matty. It would be bad if it got hurt more. That Lionel dude… he was such a menace,” she said, her expression hardening momentarily. “That fella’s dangerous, try to avoid him, or you’ll be waking up in the hospital next. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Promise, no more balling until further notice. It’ll be my top priority now,” Matthias fibbed, giving a tight, nervous smile that felt more like a grimace. But he was doing it. He was holding a conversation.

Laila smiled back, a soft, reassuring sight. She stamped her left palm lightly on the concrete bench beside her, a clear, silent gesture for him to sit.

Sit? Beside her? That was a social death sentence, a guaranteed short circuit of his already overloaded nervous system.

He struggled internally, then forced a deep, dramatic stretch, leaning heavily on the chair's backrest to fake nonchalance. He took another deep, lung-searing breath and gently lowered his weight onto the seat. He fought the urge to put six feet of space between them.

“Wow, what an evening. You don’t see this view every time at the Founder’s Square,” Laila pronounced, inhaling a deep lungful of the cool, fresh evening breeze.

“You don’t say. I… I don’t frequent here much,” Matthias replied almost too quickly, his eyes momentarily fixed on the glossy movement of her lips as she spoke. 'How tragically succulent,' a very un-genius part of his brain observed.

“A great evening meal at the refectory, and now a gentle breeze under a super moon right here. It almost feels like home,” she sighed, relaxing her back against the rough concrete.

“I missed the lentil salmon,” Matthias confessed, watching her stare up at the moon like—he allowed the thought—a particularly beautiful werewolf contemplating its first transformation. Under the afternoon sun, Laila was a beauty. But with the moonlight hitting her face, illuminating the contours of her cheekbones and the depth of her eyes, she was a goddess. Matthias felt himself almost dropping into a swoon before she recalled his straying senses.

“Yeah, yeah, it was no big deal. Honestly, the salmon tasted like it died of shame and regret six months ago. Must have been hiding in the freezer,” Laila replied, making a comical, disgusted face.

Matthias managed a quiet chuckle, careful not to overdo the relief. He was scoring points. He was on a high school crush date, and she was volunteering humor.

“But I thought it was quite the meal, wasn’t it, Laila?” Matthias called her name, the sound of it strange and wonderful to his own ears. His heart skipped, a violent, unsettling jump in his chest.

“Of course not! I can still taste the stale stench of its awful flavor in my mouth. Sorry, can you check for me if my breath reeks of fish guts?” she asked, leaning toward him with a completely serious expression.

“Huh?” His mouth fell open slightly. What a request! He froze, unable to process the protocol for this unprecedented social event. Laila gently opened her mouth a little, tilting her head. She pointed a finger toward him, urging him closer.

Matthias’s mind screamed for a logical escape route, but his feet and shoulders were already committing. He drew closer. His heart was no longer simply beating; it was a frantic mess of noise and vibration inside his chest cavity. He could feel a faint tremble in his hands as he finally, cautiously, leaned in to sniff.

Angelic! It smelled of strong mint and fresh air, a testament to post-meal oral care.

“So, does it smell that bad?” she asked, her eyes wide, but a flicker of amusement dancing in them.

“Not at all. In fact, your breath is a minty freshness. Maybe the salmon was salted with mint,” he grinned, the relief making him bold. He was sure she knew her breath wasn't reeking of anything unpleasant. Was this a test? A playful move? If so, he passed.

“Oh, shucks. Then why am I having this bad aftertaste?” she wondered, withdrawing her face. Matthias, now closer and more attuned, noticed her cheeks were undeniably flushed red. She was blushing, perhaps from the close proximity, or maybe from the playful charade. He gave a silent smile inside himself.