I had rules.
No dating younger guys. No falling for anyone who still says "bro" unironically. And definitely no boys who think Tik Tok trends count as personality.
But that was all before Vic.
It started on a Tuesday, which let's be honest, is a cursed day for anything remotely romantic. I was curled up in my usual corner at the overpriced cafe near my rental, chugging iced Americano like it owed me money and fake-studying for my psych midterms. My laptop screen blinked back at me, pages of notes untouched. Classic.
That's when he walked in.
Backwards cap. Black hoodie. Headphones around his neck like he was born in an Apple commercial. He looked like trouble, this kind that comes wrapped in late-night texts and reckless smirk.
And he was… smiling. At me.
"Yo," he said, plopping down on the couch across from mine without asking. "Your vibe is giving 'I hate everyone but me.' I respect it."
Excuse me?
My brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before I responded. "You always insult strangers as a greeting, or is today special?"
He grinned, like he liked the way I snapped. "Vic," he said, offering his hand like we were in some kind of twisted rom-com. "I've seen you here before. You always sit alone."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you're a stalker."
"Nah just observant." His tone was light, teasing. Too smooth for a boy who looked barely legal.
"How old are you?" I asked, instantly regretting it.
He leaned back, folding his arms. "Nineteen."
Damn it.
I was twenty-two. This wasn't a huge gap logically, but emotionally? Generational. He probably still cried when Avengers: Endgame ended.
I returned to my notes, or at least pretended to. "You're a child."
He leaned forward like he didn't hear that. Or just didn't care. "And you're cute when you're annoyed. Do you throw things when you get mad?"
I stared at him, deadpan. "Only hands."
He laughed. And it was… annoyingly nice.
That was the beginning.
———————————————————
Three weeks later, he was still showing up. Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes with random questions like, "If I was a cat, would you adopt me or leave me on the street?" (For the record I said street. He said ouch.)
It became our unofficial thing — me fake-studying, him fake-flirting. I never gave him my number. Never followed him back. But he kept coming, like I was some kind of gravity.
And I hated how I started looking forward to it.
I hated how he remembered how I took my coffee. I hated how he asked me about Freud just to mess with me.
I hated how he said "you think too much" like it was a compliment.
But most of all, I hated how he made me laugh. Like, belly laugh. This kind you only do when you're comfortable. The kind you only do when someone feels like home.
————————————————————
It wasn't until the Thursday after midterms that things shifted.
It was a mess — running on three hours of sleep, one granola bar, and pure academic rage. My hair was in the messiest bun known to mankind. I looked like someone who lost a fight with a thesis.
And yet, Vic still showed up.
"Woah," he said, dramatically clutching his chest," You look like you just saw your GPA die."
I threw a napkin at him. "It did. And it took my will to live with it."
He slid into the seat beside me instead of across. Dangerous move. Way too close. I could smell his cologne — that vaguely citrusy scent that made my brain short-circuit again.
He handed me a muffin. Blueberry. My favourite. "Emergency sugar therapy," he said.
I stared at him. "Why are you so nice to me?"
He blinked, surprised. Then shrugged. "Because you're fun to be around. And I like watching you pretend not to like me."
Pause. Rewind. WHAT.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He leaned in, smirking. "You like me. I'm not mad about it."
My jaw dropped. "Delusional."
"Cute."
"I will throw this muffin at your head."
"Please, I love food fights."
I stared at him, speechless. Which, for me, is rare.
Then he said it.
"Look, I know I'm younger. But I'm not a kid. And I like you." That's it. No pressure. Just… don't pretend you don't feel something too."
Silence. Tension. My brain screaming. My heart thudding. My rules? Shattered. My sanity? Hanging by a thread.
I said nothing. Just looked at him. And for only once, he didn't joke. Just waited.
And somewhere inside me, something cracked.
Because maybe… I did like him.
Maybe I like the chaos, the age gap, the way he threw my whole boring routine off balance.
Maybe Vic wasn't a mistake.
Or maybe he was.
But either way…
I was already falling.
And the worst part?
I didn't even try to stop myself.
Because late at night, when my room was too quiet and my thoughts too loud, I caught myself replaying his voice in my head. That annoying little smirk. The way he said my name like it tasted sweet. I started noticing things I shouldn't: how he tugged his sleeves down when he was nervous, how he always titled his head slightly when he was really listening, how he never checked his phone when he talked. Ever.
What nineteen-year-old guy does that?
None. Except him.
I know I shouldn't shut it down. Told him he was too young, too reckless, too whatever. But every time I looked at him, that defense melted like ice cream on a hot day. And I was tired of pretending.
But here's the thing no one tells you about falling: it's not always this cute slow-mo moment with sparkles and violins. Sometimes , it's terrifying. Sometimes, it's your stomach flips. And sometimes, it's lying awake at 2AM, wondering you're just someone's little crush before they move on to someone easier.
I didn't wannna be temporary.
————————————————————
The next day, I tried to act normal.
Keyword:tired
I even made a list in my phone titled "WHY I CANNOT LIKE VIC" - yes, in full caps:
1. He's too young.
2. He probably still lives with his parents.
3. What if he only flirting for fun.
4. I literally have midterms next month why is he in my brain?
5. Age gap = different life stages = DOOM
It helped. For like… ten minutes.
Then he texted me:
"Bring your brain. I'm challenging you to a quiz-off. Winner picks coffee."
And just like that, my list evaporated.
————————————————————
We met at the cafe again that evening. He brought flashcards. Real flashcards. I was horrified.
"You're… actually serious about this?" I asked, eyeing them like they were cursed objects.
He grinned. "You study psych. I'm giving you the thrill of competition. You're welcome."
We ended up sitting there for hours, tossing questions back and forth like a pair of nerdy lunatics. Somewhere between debating Maslow's hierarchy and whether Freud was a freak (spoiler: he was), I realized something terrifying.
I was happy.
Like, legitimately happy.
No pretending. No overthinking. No weird mental timer counting down to heartbreak. Just laughter, dumb jokes, and the occasional brush of his knee against mine that set my nerve endings on fire.
God, I was so screwed.
————————————————————
That night, I called Liyana — my best friend, chaos consultant, and unofficial therapist.
"Okay, don't scream," I started.
"Girl, you already sound like you made bad choices. What did you do?" She said immediately. Iconic.
I flopped onto my bed, one hand covering my eyes. "I think I'm catching my feelings. For Vic."
She didn't answer right away. Then slowly: "The younger guy?"
"Yes."
"The nineteen-year-old?"
"Yes."
"The one who flirts like he's in a Wattpad fanfic?"
"YES, LIYANA, DAMN."
There was a long sigh on the other end. "Okay. Scale of one to 'you're planning your wedding in your head,' how deep are we?"
"…I named our future cat."
"Oh My God."
"His name is Mochi."
"OH MY GOD."
I buried my face in my pillow. "I know it's stupid. I know it probably won't last. But Liyana… he listens. He sees me. And not in a creepy way. Like he gets me in the way most guys my age never bothered to."
She was quite again. Then softer: "Then maybe it's not so stupid."
I blinked "You're not yelling at me?"
"Look, you're not dumb. You overthink everything, you analyze until your brain is on fire. So if you feel something real, I trusting that instinct. But babe… protect your heart, okay?"
My heart squeezed. "Okay."
"And don't name your cat yet. That's cursed energy."
I laughed. "Noted."
————————————————————
A few days later, I ran into someone I didn't expect to see again.
My ex.
Let's call him… Daniel. The type of guy who wore blazers in college like he was cosplaying CEO. He was the kind of ex who made me feel small, like everything I liked was "childish" and every dream I had was "unrealistic".
[End of Chapter 1]