Chapter 42 What's his name

Chapter 42 What's his name

Orientation days always felt too bright.

Too many lights, too many voices, and too many people pretending they weren’t nervous.

Mia stood at the entrance of the Art/Architecture building, hands folded neatly in front of her, sketchbook tucked against her chest. She blended into the crowds. She was the kind of girl everyone noticed immediately.

And when she's noticed … they stared.

She had that effect. A gentleness that felt rare. A softness that made people lower their voices around her without realizing why.

A faculty volunteer handed her a welcome packet.

“Architecture group is on the left,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Even her voice was gentle, warm, and careful, like she practiced not taking up space.

Mia slipped inside.

Students swarmed the main hall. People laughed, compared schedules, and complained about electives. Mia moved through them silently, eyes curious.

And then she saw him.

Michael.

He was sitting on the edge of a low bench, one headphone in, sketching something in the corner of a notebook like the rest of the room didn’t exist. His hair was slightly messy from rushing. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. A pencil twirled loosely between his fingers.

He looked nothing like anyone in the room.

He wasn't polished or trying to; he just looked real, and Mia’s steps slowed without her permission.

Something warm bloomed in her chest, as if her heart had known him long before her eyes did.

She watched him for one small, stolen moment.

Then she forced herself to look away.

It wasn’t polite to stare.

\~~~

She took a seat two rows behind him. Not close enough to be strange. Not far enough to miss anything.

Around her, students whispered.

“OMG he's magical”

“he lives off-campus…I saw him”

Mia didn’t care about the rumors.

She watched the way he kept his head down. The way he tapped the pencil against his knee. The way he only looked up when the orientation leader spoke, he was focused, almost intense.

He wasn’t trying to be impressive.

He simply was.

And Mia, who rarely looked at anyone twice, memorized him before she even knew she was doing it.

She noticed the slope of his shoulders, the roughness of his hands, and the quiet exhaustion behind his eyes.

He didn’t look fragile.

He looked burdened.

Beautifully and painfully burdened.

The orientation leader started with the basics, course load, department policy, and studio rules, but Mia heard none of it. Not really.

She watched Michael tuck his pencil behind his ear, revealing the slightest scar near his temple. It was old and faint, a detail no one really saw.

But she noticed everything.

\~~~

Near the end of the session, students broke into groups, pretending it wasn’t awkward. Mia stood slowly, clutching her sketchbook, waiting for the rush to thin out.

Michael moved first.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and drifted toward the hallway, not looking at her, not looking at anyone really, just moving with that quiet, self-contained energy.

Her heart tripped.

He walked right past her. A few steps away. Close enough that she smelled the faintest trace of pencil shavings on him. Close enough that she felt the warmth of his presence like a small, steady pulse in the air.

He didn’t glance her way.

But Mia…

She turned her head just slightly, watching him disappear around the corner.

Something tugged in her chest. A pull she didn’t understand.

\~~~

The building emptied.

Mia stayed behind.

She walked into the open-air courtyard where new students gathered, chatting under the shade of the tall oak trees. Her eyes drifted instinctively, searching,

There.

Michael again.

Talking with a professor. Nodding so seriously and respectfully.

Then laughing at something, it was a quiet, brief, but real moment.

Mia felt it like a tap against her ribs.

She shouldn’t be staring.

But she couldn’t stop.

She stepped back, positioning herself behind a row of students so she wouldn’t be obvious. Her fingers brushed the edge of her sketchbook, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood.

Michael didn’t see her.

He just adjusted his backpack and turned toward the campus exit.

And that was when Daphne crossed his path.

Mia froze.

Daphne walked up to Michael as she belonged in his space. Like it was normal for him to look at her with that softness, it was not too obvious, but there, undeniably there.

Daphne laughed at something he said. He shook his head, smiling quietly.

They looked… familiar.

Comfortable.

Close.

Mia’s stomach tightened, lightly at first, then sharper.

She didn’t know Daphne. She didn’t know Michael. She didn’t know what history threaded between them.

But she saw enough in those few seconds to understand something important:

Daphne saw Michael.

And Michael saw Daphne.

Mia’s fingers curled around her sketchbook.

Uninvited heat spread across her cheeks, something between embarrassment and something more dangerous. She looked down at her shoes until the two were gone, afraid someone might read her face.

Stupid.

She shouldn’t care.

She just arrived.

She didn’t even know his name yet.

But her heart had already memorized the way he stood, the way his eyes softened, not at her, but at someone else.

Mia exhaled slowly, trying to smooth her expression back to polite neutrality.

Trying not to feel the tiny sting beneath her ribs.

\~~~

She left the building quietly.

The campus walkway stretched ahead of her, sunlight, chatter, footsteps echoing on stone. She moved at her usual soft pace, neither rushing nor lingering.

Two girls walked ahead of her, deep in conversation.

“…yeah, the orientation was so boring, I almost fell asleep…”

“Did you see that guy sketching in the back row? The one with the rolled sleeves?”

Mia’s ears sharpened.

One girl rolled her eyes dramatically. “Everyone did. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

Mia’s heart gave one small, traitorous thud.

She waited until they slowed near a bulletin board before taking a breath and stepping closer. Her voice was quiet. Gentle as always.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to overhear.”

Her eyes dropped politely. “But… who were you talking about?”

The girls blinked at her, surprised by the soft interruption.

“The tall one,” the first girl said, brushing her hair back. “Dark hair, sketchbook, looks like a brooding architect in a drama? That one.”

Mia felt her pulse tick upward.

She nodded once.

“And… what’s his name?” she asked.

The second girl smirked, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask.

“Oh. That’s Michael.”

Mia repeated it silently.

Michael.

The name felt warm on her tongue.

Too warm.

She swallowed and tried to keep her expression mild, like it was just a polite curiosity, nothing more.

The girls kept talking as they walked away.

But Mia stayed exactly where she was, fingers tightening around the corner of her sketchbook.

As the girls disappeared into the courtyard, Mia whispered under her breath, almost to herself

“Michael… who are you?”