Chester leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before resting them behind his head. His gaze drifted—not to the screen, but to the pile of applications set slightly apart from the rest. The stack had been sorted and reviewed meticulously, each paper aligned in neat order, yet one application had caught his attention immediately.
Someone—likely Tina—had placed it deliberately on top of the reviewed stack. He noticed it as soon as he glanced that way, and it seemed almost intentional, as if someone wanted him to pause, to consider it.
He drifted into thought, letting the quiet hum of the council room wash over him. The faint ticking of the wall clock, the low whir of the laptop's cooling fan, and the occasional distant echo of footsteps in the corridor outside became a backdrop to his focus.
When his attention returned, Chester picked it up.
Name: Caroline
Achievements:
– 1st place, National Youth Orchestra (NYO)
– 1st place, All-State Musicians (Band)
His fingers paused over the page, hovering for a beat longer than necessary.
Volunteering Experience:
– Go Green
– Anti-Bullying
He read the final section carefully, letting each word sink in.
Why are you interested in KITS Student Council volunteering?
I want to take part in organizing the Freshers' Event of KITS.
That was it.
No dramatic declarations. No exaggerated leadership claims. No unnecessary emotional appeal. Just one clean, simple sentence.
Chester exhaled softly through his nose, a quiet acknowledgment of the unusual straightforwardness. Unlike the others—who had either inflated their achievements to almost absurd levels or attempted desperately to appear indispensable—this one hadn't bothered. She had listed what mattered and stopped there. Simple. Too simple, perhaps.
He studied the page again, eyes narrowing slightly, wondering if such economy of words could carry any weight. Is it really that simple? he questioned himself silently. Could someone this understated still make a difference?
Chester placed her application aside—not back into the reviewed pile, but slightly away from both stacks. A third space. Temporary. Intentional.
The rest of the applications blurred together after that. Familiar patterns, predictable motivations. He skimmed, checked boxes, marked notes with mechanical precision. Routine. Necessary. Boring. A tedium that made the calm simplicity of Caroline's single sentence seem almost radiant in contrast.
When the alarm on his phone chimed softly, Chester shut the laptop without hesitation. He stacked the reviewed forms cleanly, aligned the pending ones carefully, and slid Caroline's application on top of the reviewed pile this time—without a second glance. He stood, shouldered his bag, and scanned the council room out of habit.
Windows—closed.
Curtains—drawn.
Lights—off.
The room was still, bathed in shadow. The lock clicked softly behind him, a quiet punctuation mark to the day's work.
Outside, the campus had shifted into its nighttime rhythm. Not quiet—never quiet—but different. The kind of noise that lingered instead of rushing, stretched instead of bouncing. Conversations carried further before fading, footsteps fell with deliberate slowness, laughter echoed unevenly, almost hesitant at the edges.
As Chester crossed past Elephant Ear, he noticed a girl stepping out ahead of him. She lingered for a moment near the entrance, checking her phone, one earbud still in, before sliding the device into her pocket and beginning to walk. Her path led toward Fountain Frog.
Chester slowed. Not because of her direction, but because of the way she moved. She stayed to the far side of the road, deliberately avoiding the buildings, moving straight ahead with a casual purpose. There was no urgency, no distraction, just… motion. Calm, measured, effortless.
His lips curved faintly, almost unconsciously.
Outside Fountain Frog, the usual clusters of students were already there—lounging, smoking, laughing too loudly. Chester's gaze flicked over them without surprise, then returned to the girl. She ignored the groups entirely. She didn't hurry either. Instead, she veered slightly and entered Ginger.
That made him pause.
Why Ginger? he wondered.
The canteen wasn't fully open yet. Most final-year students hadn't returned from classes, and the place was quiet, almost empty. A few tables occupied, but the space felt incomplete, unfinished, like a stage before the actors arrived.
Curiosity nudged him forward before he consciously decided.
She stood near the center, scanning the room as though she were searching for someone—or something. Her posture was relaxed, casual, yet attentive. Before Chester realized it, he had moved close enough to speak.
"Are you looking for someone?" he asked.
She turned, and up close, she looked different from the girl he had seen walking across campus. The joggers and loose T-shirt softened her image, her hair slightly messy, giving her a carefree air that hadn't been there in the council room. There was a lightness in the way she held herself, a small contrast to the disciplined seriousness of her application.
After speaking with Caroline briefly, Chester turned and headed toward Fountain Frog, not waiting to see if she would follow.
She did.
Inside, the canteen buzzed with activity. Harsh fluorescent lighting highlighted the linoleum floor, loud voices overlapped, and the aroma of oil, spices, and baked goods hung heavy in the air. Seniors filled a few tables, while others preferred takeout, retreating upstairs with their trays.
"Can you wait in the queue?" she asked suddenly. "I need to send the menu to my friends."
Before he could respond, she added, "I'll be back in a minute."
And she was gone.
Chester watched her from the corner of his eye as she snapped photos, typed quickly, and checked messages—calm, efficient, deliberate in her actions. She returned moments later.
"You can order anything you want," she said. "I'll pay—you helped me out today."
"No need," he replied automatically.
She looked at him for a moment, a faint acknowledgment in her eyes, then nodded. "Okay."
The queue moved quickly.
"Two roasted salmon and quinoa," she said when it was her turn. "Two chicken pizzas. One Mexican tacos. Two half-liter colas. Takeout."
She paid without hesitation. Chester placed his own order—chicken with smashed potatoes and broccoli.
Outside, the night had thickened, deeper and quieter, a subtle cloak over the campus. Caroline stood to the side, shifting the two carry bags from one hand to the other, adjusting her grip as the weight settled.
"Do you want me to escort you out now?" he asked.
"I don't want frogs jumping on my food."
He sighed. "Why don't you ask your friend to help you carry it?"
"They're busy," she said casually.
He didn't press.
After a few seconds, she asked, "Are you in your final year?"
"Third," he said.
"Can third-years stay in Ginger?"
"Are you always this talkative?" he asked, stopping just outside the building.
Before she could reply—
"Cheez!"
Marcus called out.
Chester noticed the shift immediately—the way her shoulders relaxed, the way she turned toward the voice, already extending one hand.
Marcus reached her, took the bag, exhaled sharply in relief. Then his gaze lifted—straight to Chester, then back to Caroline.
"What are you doing here?" Marcus asked, controlled but firm.
"I came for takeout," Caroline replied. "Ginger isn't open yet. I met senior Chester there, and he accompanied me."
Chester nodded once. "Since you have your food, I'll take my leave."
"Thank you," Caroline said, smiling brightly.
He turned away, unhurried.
Behind him, she took Marcus's hand, and they left—before the frogs could react.
Chester didn't look back.