Verse 6

The line moved forward, step by sluggish step, but my brain was still stuck back there—on the way Elena had casually invited me. No pressure. Just … think about it. Thinking is all I do. This was easy.

NO WAY IN HELL.

I’ve run countless simulations in my mind, and in none of them am I at the open mic.

I caught myself watching her—not in a creepy way (I hope), but just … studying. I wasn’t used to people like her. The kind who made everything look so easy. Talking. Laughing. Being. She had this effortless way of existing, like the world bent just slightly to accommodate her presence. Meanwhile, I was out here treating basic human interaction like a high-stakes chess match.

The sun was high now, beating down on us. That’s when I started regretting the hoodie. I was sweating like I was in hell. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass, chlorine from the artificial pool, and the vague scent of someone’s overpowering cologne. But it was balanced by the citrusy smell of her.

Elena shifted beside me, crossing her arms. “So, what are you majoring in?”

My first instinct was to deflect, to keep my answers short and noncommittal. Continue with the whole ‘mystery’ vibe. But something about her made me want to try, even if my brain screamed against it.

“Creative writing,” I said, surprising myself.

Her eyes lit up. “No way. That’s actually so cool.”

Cool? That was the first time anyone had used that word to describe me.

“You think so?”

“Duh. You get to make up worlds and characters and stuff. It’s like being a god, but for stories.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, a god that deletes half their drafts and rewrites everything three times.”

She laughed. “I’ve also been accused of being a perfectionist, so I get what you mean.”

She was so easy to talk to. Like the conversations wrote themselves. I mean was it just me? This was weird to say the least. Is this what the normies feel like? No wonder they all look too happy being in casual conversations.

Maybe I should try it, to strike up a conversation for once.

“What about you?” I asked, hoping to shift the focus.

“Music production,” she answered. “I wanna make film scores one day.”

That made sense. There was something cinematic about her—like she belonged in one of those coming-of-age indie movies where the quirky girl turns some awkward loner’s life upside down. But this wasn’t a movie and even if it was, I wasn’t the one writing it.

“Sounds like you actually have a plan,” I said.

She exhaled, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I like to pretend I do.”

The admin office was finally in reach. The line had thinned, and I was next to sign in for my dorm room. My palms were sweating again. I wiped them against my jeans.

Elena nudged me one last time. “Hey.”

I looked up.

She grinned. “Don’t disappear after this, okay?”

I didn’t know what to say. My default setting was to disappear—to slip between cracks, to stay unnoticed. I had nothing to offer this question. Should I make a joke and say I’m not the invisible woman? That could be funny.

Or should I reassure her that I wouldn’t? But before I could respond, the admin lady called me forward, and the moment passed.

I glanced back once, but Elena was already turning away, her sunflower jacket catching the sunlight as she walked off.

After signing in, is when the old lady gave me a condom.

I get it now, she thought Elena and I were thing. Or maybe she hoped we were?

Poor old lady, she really thought I was one of those guys who could Rizz the heck out of a girl. As if, I’m not Tom Holland or Benny Blanco. By the way, if at some point I meet Benny Blanco, I’m asking him how he got Selena Gomez to be his fiancée.

Because Sheesh, God must be writing his story himself.

No. I’m the guy who gets friendzoned hard on the second meet.

You’ll see, soon enough Elena will be asking me to help her with her homework or something.

Whatever, Moving on.