Tuesday – Midday, Carter University
The second day should've been forgettable.
Same buildings. Same lectures. Same overly-enthusiastic student council reps handing out flyers no one read.
But not for Rick.
Because there she was again — same bench, same spot — like she'd been waiting.
Except this time, she waved him over.
"Mister Monday Intensity," she said.
"You're back."
Rick didn't break stride. He just glanced at her as he passed.
"Didn't realize I had a title."
"Everyone's got one," she called out. "You just haven't discovered yours yet."
He slowed. She grinned. Hooked.
"You can sit, you know. I won't charge rent."
Rick hesitated for a bit, then sighed and sat down — not too close. Just enough.
"Do you always talk to strangers like this?"
"Only the ones who look like anime protagonists."
He turned his head slowly. She was watching him, unfiltered, curious.
"You're not shy, are you?" he asked.
She leaned back and stretched.
"Nope. Life's too short for hesitation. I'm Ava, by the way."
"Rick."
"See? Progress. We're practically coworkers in the friend department now."
Library – Later that day
Rick found himself thinking about her more than he expected.
The girl had a strange rhythm — no mask, no filter, no walls. She existed out loud.
Everything Rick wasn't.
And that intrigued him.
She wasn't just loud or random. There was something else. A kind of warmth...
No. Not warmth. A lightness.
Like gravity didn't cling to her the same way it clung to him.
He shook his head, trying to focus on his screen. But his fingers hovered over the keyboard longer than they typed.
He closed the laptop and stood up.
Evening – Gymnasium, Carter Rec Center
Weights always helped. Heavy steel. Measurable progress. A place where silence wasn't awkward — it was respected.
Rick wrapped his hands and hit the bag with clean, sharp jabs. Focused. Controlled.
Then a voice broke the rhythm.
"Wow. You punch like someone with unresolved trauma."
Ava.
Rick didn't turn.
"I thought you were allergic to quiet places."
She walked closer, mock-shielding her eyes.
"Nah, I just don't work out. Not unless you count emotional labor."
He finally glanced at her. Gym shorts. Loose hoodie. Same smirk.
"What are you doing here?"
"Stalking you, obviously."
She paused, laughing.
"Kidding. Kinda. I signed up for a yoga class. But turns out I'm ten minutes late and it's full. So I figured I'd see if the brooding boxer wanted a water break."
Rick wiped sweat from his forehead, then tossed her a bottle from his bag.
"You talk a lot."
"You listen a lot. Balance."
Campus Courtyard– 9:30PM
They walked.
Just... walked.
No destination. No pressure. And somehow, they didn't run out of things to say.
Ava told him she was majoring in creative writing. Loved stories. Believed in messy people and second chances. She said she kept a secret notebook full of character profiles based on random strangers she saw on the street.
"You're in there now, FYI. Page 3. Code name: Moody Marvel."
Rick raised a brow. "That's awful."
"Yeah, but it sticks, right?"
He smiled — a real one this time. Small, but alive.
Then — it happened
A loud crash echoed from across the quad.
Shattering glass. A scream.
Rick's body moved before his brain did. He ran toward it, Ava close behind.
They turned the corner to see a campus maintenance cart flipped over on its side, glass strewn across the path. A crowd was forming. A girl — panicked, bleeding from the forehead — was trying to stand.
A man in a white uniform was backing away. Shaky. Pale.
"I—I don't know what happened. It just... it wasn't me—"
Rick didn't hesitate. He knelt beside the injured girl, checking her pulse. Conscious. Breathing.
"Call an ambulance," he told someone nearby. "Now."
Ava stood frozen behind him. Her hands trembled slightly.
Rick noticed.
"Ava. Hey—look at me."
She did.
"It's okay. I've got her. Go grab the campus officer at the gate, now."
She nodded, snapped back into motion, and ran.
Later – Campus Security Briefing
The girl would be okay. Minor injuries. But the driver? He was rattled — said the steering locked on its own. Brakes failed. No warning. No sense.
Campus security was filing a report. But Rick had seen the guy's eyes.
Not fear. Not guilt.
Confusion. Like he genuinely had no idea what had just happened.
Something about it didn't sit right.
Rick stood under the cold light of a streetlamp, staring at the wrecked cart.
And in that moment, he felt it — deep in his gut.
This wasn't just a random accident.
Something was off.