Monday came with the usual noise of campus life — chatter in the courtyard, rushed footsteps, the rustle of notebooks and the thump of lockers. Ava walked across the campus lawn with Mia beside her, their hands full of textbooks and snacks.
Mia was talking.
Actually, Mia was performing.
"You didn't tell me he drove you there," she accused dramatically.
"For the last time," Ava sighed, "it was just a ride."
"Mm-hmm," Mia narrowed her eyes. "And just a friend. And just breathing. And just coincidentally incredibly handsome with mysterious eyes."
Ava groaned. "Please trip."
Mia gasped and clutched her chest. "Violence against your faithful roommate? After he personally played human jungle gym for orphans? Ava, you monster."
Despite herself, Ava smiled.
She hadn't planned on replaying the weekend in her mind. But flashes kept returning — laughter under the mango tree, Recee carrying a sleepy child, the easy silence in the car. Little things that shouldn't matter and somehow did.
"Did you have fun?" Mia asked, softer now.
Ava nodded. "Yeah. I think… he liked it there."
"Of course he did." Mia bumped her shoulder. "He likes you."
Ava scoffed. "No he doesn't."
Mia arched a brow. "Okay. Then explain why he looks at you like a locked diary he wants to read."
Ava opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
She settled for chewing her biscuit aggressively.
They reached the hallway outside their lecture hall — buzzing with students. At the far end, Recee leaned against the wall, sleeves rolled, earphones in, reading something on his tablet. Calm. Detached. Like the noise bent around him instead of touching him.
And yet the moment Ava appeared, his gaze lifted — brief, instinctive — like his attention had been waiting for her specifically.
Mia smirked.
Ava pretended she didn't see any of it.
Before she could approach, a voice cut in.
"Hey, Ava!"
She turned.
Daniel Wu — tall, athletic, annoyingly confident — jogged up to her with a grin wide enough to blind a small village. Captain of intramural basketball, self-declared heart thief, and academically surviving by the grace of group projects.
"You dropped this last week during lab." He held up her pen.
"Oh— thanks," Ava said, surprised. "I thought it disappeared forever."
"You owe me a favor then," Daniel said smoothly.
Mia whispered under her breath, "Here comes the show."
Daniel continued, undeterred.
"Have lunch with me. Just lunch. No quizzes, I promise."
Ava opened her mouth to refuse politely. Before she could, he leaned closer — not inappropriate, just confidently invading space like gravity owed him.
Behind them, Recee closed his tablet.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just… closed it.
Ethan ,who had arrived beside him unnoticed, followed his gaze and nearly laughed out loud.
"Oh," Ethan said quietly. "There it is."
Recee didn't answer.
Daniel rested one hand against the wall beside Ava, smiling down at her. "Come on. I need someone smart to keep me from failing and you owe me because I heroically saved your pen."
Ava snorted. "What a dramatic life you live."
"Tragic, really."
She hesitated. Not because she wanted to — but because refusing people was something she tried not to do rudely. Before she found an answer, Mia clapped her hands.
"Lunch?" Mia cut in sweetly. "Great idea."
Daniel beamed.
"With both of us," Mia finished.
He blinked. "Both…?"
"Yes," Mia said, looping her arm through Ava's. "That way she won't be bored."
Ava bit her lip to hide a laugh.
Daniel sighed. "Fine. Deal. Group lunch. I accept my fate."
From the other side of the hallway, Ethan muttered, "Blocked by friendship — brutal."
Recee didn't smile.
His gaze didn't leave Ava.
Ethan tilted his head. "You're gripping your tablet like it personally offended you."
Recee loosened his fingers immediately.
"There's no reason to be annoyed," he said.
"Of course not," Ethan agreed lightly. "It's completely normal to stare holes through a man's soul because he leaned near a girl you're totally not interested in."
Recee gave him a flat look.
Ethan grinned wider. "So calm. So composed. So jealous."
"I'm not—"
"Sure. And I'm the Dean."
Recee went silent.
It wasn't loud jealousy — not the kind that snapped or scowled. It was quieter, heavier. A low, unfamiliar tightening in his chest he did not appreciate.
Daniel laughed at something Ava said. She brushed hair from her face, smiling — open, genuine, unguarded. Recee watched, feeling something he did not have a name for yet.
Ethan crossed his arms. "You know, usually you don't care about people."
"I still don't," Recee replied.
"But?" Ethan nudged.
Recee didn't answer.
But the word hung between them anyway.
Class started.
Ava took her seat. Mia slid dramatically into the chair beside her.
"Do you realize?" Mia whispered.
"What?"
"You almost became the main character of a love triangle without signing the consent form."
Ava choked back laughter.
"Daniel's just— Daniel."
"And Recee is just— Recee," Mia sang. "Except he looked ready to rearrange the laws of physics when Daniel leaned in."
Ava risked a small glance back.
Recee sat a few rows behind, eyes on the board, posture perfect, expression unreadable — except for the fact that every time she moved, he seemed aware of it.
Her heart made a small, unnecessary jump.
She turned forward quickly.
The lecture passed with words sliding in and out of attention. Notes filled, questions asked, whispering chalk and whirring fans setting the rhythm of the hour. When the professor dismissed them, Daniel caught up again.
"Lunch. I'll wait at the courtyard."
"Okay," Ava nodded, partly out of politeness, partly because Mia was already dragging her that way anyway.
As they left, Ethan rose and stretched lazily.
"You're going to follow them," he said casually.
Recee didn't move. "No."
Ethan smiled. "You already decided you're 'just passing by' the courtyard."
Recee paused.
Ethan's grin sharpened. "I'll come too. Strictly for scientific observation."
They found a table beneath a large jacaranda tree. Purple petals dotted the ground like confetti. Students laughed nearby; a soft wind chased napkins across the grass.
Daniel did most of the talking. He mimicked teachers, reenacted basketball fails, complained dramatically about assignments. Mia laughed too loudly on purpose just to throw him off rhythm. Ava listened, adding comments here and there.
Then Daniel leaned in again.
"Seriously though," he said more quietly, eyes softening, "you're… different from most people here. You work so hard and still smile. I respect that."
The sincerity in his voice surprised her.
Ava blinked. "Thank you."
He hesitated, then asked, "So… anyone you like?"
Mia nearly dropped her juice.
Ava's fingers tightened around her fork.
Someone's shadow fell over the table.
Recee stood behind Daniel, a step back, hands in his pockets — not intruding but impossible to ignore. Ethan appeared beside him, already enjoying himself.
"Oh," Ethan said cheerfully. "Lunch reunion."
Daniel turned, eyebrows lifting. "Hey, Recee. Join us?"
Recee met Ava's gaze first.
Not Daniel's.
Not anyone else's.
Just hers.
"If you don't mind," he said — directed only at her.
The world seemed to slow for a heartbeat.
She swallowed. "I don't."
He sat.
The air shifted.
Lightly. Subtly.
Daniel continued smiling, but he sensed it — a presence across the table that wasn't loud but somehow anchored everything. Mia pretended to message someone, when in reality she was vibrating with curiosity.
Conversation resumed, but now something new threaded through it — unspoken tension, glances that lingered too long, words that carried double meaning. Daniel cracked jokes.
Recee listened.
Daniel leaned closer.
Recee's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
At one point, Ava laughed at something Daniel said, head tilted back, eyes bright. Ethan watched Recee out of the corner of his eye and whistled silently.
There it was again.
"Jealousy "
raw, new, startling — like a crack appearing in perfectly still ice.
When lunch ended, Daniel walked away waving dramatically.
Mia dragged Ava toward the dorms with the energy of a gossip-powered rocket.
"You," Mia whispered, eyes blazing with delight, "are living my favorite drama."
Ava groaned into her hands. "Mia—"
"Two attractive men. One lunch table. Eye contact that could write poetry. Do not ruin this for me."
In another part of campus, Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets.
"So?"
"So what," Recee replied.
Ethan smiled faintly. "Do you still 'not care'?"
Recee didn't answer.
He simply looked in the direction Ava had gone — as if some invisible thread tugged between them — and for the first time allowed himself to acknowledge the quiet, undeniable truth forming beneath his calm:
He didn't want to watch anyone else take up space beside her.
And that realization, soft as it was, felt dangerous.
Not in a way that threatened her.
In a way that threatened his control.
The first crack had formed.
And neither of them had any idea just how far it would spread.