(Ruby's POV)
The bell rang louder than usual after third period, and the hallway buzzed like it always did — shouting, sneakers squeaking, someone spilling half a bottle of Gatorade and not owning up to it.
I was heading toward the cafeteria when I heard someone yell, "Nurse! Nurse station! Becky's down!"
My heart dropped.
Becky never goes down. She's the type who plays volleyball with a sprained finger and still trash-talks the other team like she's in the finals.
But when I got to the hallway outside the gym, Felix was already halfway sprinting, phone in hand, his face pale and panicked.
"Where?" I asked breathlessly.
He didn't answer — just kept running.
By the time we reached the nurse's station, I was sweating through my hoodie. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung my nose, and my heart was drumming so hard I could hear it in my ears.
And then I froze.
Because there — sitting beside Becky, gently holding an ice pack against her knee — was Sam Walker.
She looked up as we walked in.
And for a second, no one spoke.
Not even Becky.
Which is saying a lot.
"Oh," Sam said softly, lowering the ice pack a little. "She took a weird fall during PE."
Becky looked up at us with a sheepish grin. "My ankle's fine. Dramatic overreaction."
"You winced walking," Sam said.
"She's being brave," Felix mumbled, eyes narrowed at her knee.
"Your face is brave," Becky shot back, then hissed as she tried to adjust her leg.
Sam smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make my blood do something strange in my veins.
I stayed near the door.
Didn't say anything. Didn't know how to.
Sam didn't look at me directly. Not in that obvious "I'm watching you" way.But she knew I was there. I could tell by the way she shifted — more alert, somehow softer.
She was sitting in the plastic chair I always hated, like it belonged to her now. Like she could make even that look graceful.
Felix was fussing over Becky now, unzipping her backpack to get her water bottle while Becky kept mumbling something about "not needing a full bodyguard unit."
I stood there, entirely unnecessary and entirely spiraling.
Becky looked up suddenly, and her eyes sparkled in a way I didn't like.
"You know," she said casually, "Ruby's family owns a food stall near the metro."
Felix and I both turned to her at the same time.
My blood turned cold.
"It's called Jane's Wok," she continued, ignoring the wide-eyed glare I was throwing her. "It's amazing. She makes the best fried noodles."
Sam looked up.
I died inside.
Becky smiled at Sam, full of fake innocence. "You should come sometime. You know, as a thank-you."
My jaw nearly unhinged.
Felix coughed loudly and jumped in. "But, you know, only if you're not busy. Totally optional. Like extremely optional. No pressure, ever."
I nodded rapidly. "Right. Yeah. No pressure."
Sam blinked at all three of us, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled — not wide, not mocking, just… calm.
"Sure," she said.
Becky sat up straighter. "Wait, seriously?"
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. If the noodles are good."
"They're so good," Becky gushed.
"They're alright," I mumbled, heat crawling up my neck.
We left the nurse's office in a strange cloud of awkward energy.
Becky had a limp. Felix carried her bag. I carried all my regrets.
Sam walked a little behind us, quiet.
I couldn't tell if she was nervous or just… thinking.
Outside, the sun had dipped behind a few clouds. The chill hit fast, and I rubbed my hands together as we walked toward the metro gate.
"Want me to grab you a coffee or something?" Felix asked Becky, hovering like a very dramatic nurse.
She rolled her eyes. "I twisted my ankle, not got pneumonia."
"Still. You're fragile now."
"Shut up."
"You love it."
"Maybe."
They kept bickering like that the whole way, and I didn't even have the strength to tease them for it.
Because beside me — close, too close — was Sam.
And all I could think about was:
She said yes.She's actually coming.She'll be sitting at my table.
The rest of the day went in a blur.
I couldn't focus in chem.I dropped my pencil three times during math.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she looked sitting beside Becky — gentle, careful, like she wasn't just being nice, but genuinely showing up.
Sam Walker wasn't supposed to look like that.
Not for me.
After school, I cleaned the counter at the food stall three times even though it was already spotless.
My parents noticed immediately.
"You're anxious," Mom said.
"Am not."
"You always clean when you're nervous."
"Maybe I like clean things."
Dad walked by, flipping a dumpling in the pan. "Does this have anything to do with the girl?"
"What girl?"
My voice cracked.
He raised an eyebrow.
I focused on wiping.
I'd convinced myself she wouldn't come.
Not because I didn't want her to. God, I wanted her to.
But because girls like Sam Walker didn't just show up at places like ours.
Not the kind of places where the tables wobble a little, and the air smells like soy sauce and garlic 24/7. Not the kind of food courts tucked behind metro gates with flickering lights and plastic stools. Not the kind of places where your parents greet customers like they're relatives and you wipe tables with dish towels from home.
She was the kind of girl people looked at. I was the kind people looked past.
So yeah — I didn't think she'd come.
Which is why my heart nearly jumped out of my ribs when Felix nudged me from behind the register and whispered, "Don't look now, but Princess Basketball just walked in."
I looked. Obviously.
And there she was.
Sam.
Standing at the edge of the food court like she didn't quite belong — hoodie sleeves pulled over her palms, hair tied up like she couldn't decide if she was trying to look effortless or hide behind it.
She paused when she saw the stall.
I saw it in her face — that hesitation. That quick, nervous scan of the plastic tables and the handwritten menu board and the too-loud sizzling from our grill.
For a second, I was sure she'd turn around.
But then Becky waved, grinning like she was watching a miracle.
And Sam started walking toward us.
I think I stopped breathing for a full thirty seconds.
"Hey," she said when she reached our table. "Hope I'm not crashing."
Becky lit up. "We thought you bailed!"
Sam smiled faintly. "I almost did."
Felix chuckled. "Honesty. I respect that."
Becky shoved him lightly. "Shut up. Sit, Sam. Please. I already told them the food here is like… stupid good."
Sam looked around.
I could tell — the wobbling fan, the slightly uneven floor, the smell of chili oil hanging in the air — it wasn't what she was used to.
Still, she sat.
Slowly. Carefully.Like the plastic chair might judge her for being rich.
"I'll get you the good plate," I mumbled, slipping away behind the counter before I could embarrass myself any further.
My mom caught my sleeve as I passed her.
"That's her?"
I nodded stiffly.
She gave me the look. The one that somehow meant don't panic, but also don't ruin this.
"I'll put in extra green onions," she whispered, already tossing noodles into the wok like it was a sacred offering.
From the kitchen window, I watched them.
Sam sat at the table, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded in her lap. She was looking around again — at the people shuffling past, the blinking sign above our heads, the cheap plastic cutlery bin.
She looked a little lost.
But not uncomfortable.
Just... trying.
When I brought the plate over, I tried to sound casual.
"House special. Fried noodles, garlic sauce, crispy tofu. Best we have."
She smiled up at me.
And for the second time in two days, I almost dropped something.
"Thank you," she said softly. "It smells incredible."
I stood there too long. Watching her too hard. I only snapped out of it when Felix loudly cleared his throat and gave me a pointed look.
I turned back to the counter before I could combust.
"You didn't have to come," I heard Becky say behind me.
Sam replied, "I know."
"Most people wouldn't have."
"Maybe I'm not most people."
Felix let out a dramatic gasp. "Is this character development?"
"Shut up, Felix."
"I will not. You're literally a drama arc."
"You're literally a cartoon character."
"Not denying that."
I smiled to myself. Chaos. Comforting, familiar chaos.
And Sam didn't leave.
Fifteen minutes in, she asked for more chili flakes.
By the twenty-minute mark, she'd finished the entire plate.
At thirty, she was laughing — laughing — as Becky recounted her dramatic fall in PE class with sound effects and exaggerated reenactments that made the table shake.
And I?
I was watching all of it.
From the register, from the corners, from behind my mom's shoulder as we prepped dumplings.
Watching how she leaned her cheek into her hand when she listened.How she chewed her straw even though her drink was already empty.How she looked at Becky like she actually liked her. Like she was staying.
At one point, my dad — hands still dusted in flour — walked over and offered Sam a piece of sesame flatbread straight from the griddle.
She blinked. "For me?"
He grinned. "Try it. No one else appreciates it properly."
Becky gasped. "I always appreciate the flatbread."
"Not enough."
Sam laughed and took a bite. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "This is insanely good."
My dad winked at her. "Now you appreciate it."
Sam smiled. "I really do."
And just like that — just like that — my father had adopted her.
"You work here a lot?" Sam asked later, eyes on me as I refilled her water.
I nodded. "After school, most days."
"Do you like it?"
I hesitated. "Some days."
She tilted her head, waiting.
"I like the food. And the smells. And being here with them," I gestured to my parents. "But I also smell like garlic for 48 hours straight."
She laughed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
I looked up at her then. She was smiling at me — not politely, not vaguely.
Smiling like she meant it.
Felix and Becky started squabbling over who should pay for the meal ("I invited her!" "You tripped over a bench!" "Still counts!"), and I slipped back behind the counter to breathe.
My mom followed me after a moment.
"She's lovely," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
"She's…" I shook my head. "Yeah."
Mom touched my shoulder gently.
"You look like you've been waiting for her to show up your whole life."
I blinked fast. Swallowed harder.
"She wasn't supposed to come," I whispered.
"But she did."
By the time they were ready to leave, the lights outside the court were buzzing and the air had gone cold again.
Sam stood, stretched, and looked around like she was trying to memorize the space.
"Thank you," she said to my parents.
My dad waved a floury hand. "Come back any time. First visit's on us. Second one? We charge double."
Sam grinned. "Deal."
Then she turned to me.
And for the first time since she arrived, we were the only two not talking.
Her voice was soft.
"The food was amazing."
"Thanks."
"I'm glad I came."
My voice cracked. "Me too."
As she walked out with Becky and Felix — still mock-arguing over who got to claim credit — I leaned my back against the counter and closed my eyes.
Let it settle.
Let it be real.
Because today, for the first time ever…
Sam Walker came to my world.
And stayed.
[End of Chapter 15 – Fried Noodles & Eye Contact]
I thought she'd run the second she saw how small this world of mine was.But she didn't.She stayed. And smiled. And called it good.