CHAPTER 3 – KEVIN: ENCOUNTER
The campus was still half-asleep when I arrived—quiet enough that even my footsteps felt too loud. The early morning air carried a thin chill, the kind that nipped lightly at skin but smelled clean, like fresh leaves and new beginnings. Dew clung to the grass, catching the pale gold of the rising sun.
I made my way to the acacia tree standing tall in the center of the courtyard. Its branches draped overhead like protective arms, the leaves whispering whenever a breeze passed through. I sat beneath it, my back against the textured bark, and unfolded my class schedule.
The paper trembled just slightly in my hands.
First day.
New school.
New name.
New life—if I could manage not to mess it up.
But my brain wouldn't focus. The words on the page blurred as something deeper—something old, buried—pressed against my chest like a memory wanting out but still locked behind fogged glass.
Then movement stirred in my periphery.
At first, I didn't look, just let the soft sound of footsteps ripple across the courtyard. But curiosity tugged my attention to the side.
And then I saw her.
She crossed the courtyard with an effortless sway, headphones covering her ears, the wire of it tucked neatly under the collar of a pale blouse that contrasted sharply with her usual reputation. A black skirt skimmed along her thighs, and long dark hair—almost too long to be practical—flowed down her back in loose waves.
But it was her presence that changed the air.
Students slowed. Voices dimmed. Heads turned in synchronized motion, like a wave following the path of gravity.
And she didn't acknowledge any of them.
Her brows were set, straight and confident. Her eyes held the cool focus of someone accustomed to eyes on her yet irritated by them. Up close, I imagined her lashes were thick, framing obsidian eyes that could cut someone clean if she wanted.
She walked like someone who didn't need permission to take up space.
Something inside me shifted—soft at first, like a faint knock on a locked memory door.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Then the bell shattered the silence, pulling reality back like a rug yanked from under my feet.
I shoved my schedule in my pocket, grabbed my backpack, and checked my reflection in my phone screen. Jawline straight, hair flattened on the sides, glasses clean. My collar—crooked. I fixed it quickly, exhaling hard.
English class.
Somewhere in this maze.
The hallway swallowed me whole. Students rushed in all directions, their chatter bouncing off the walls. I tried to walk with purpose, but every turn brought five new hallways branching like a labyrinth designed for humiliation.
I was staring at classroom numbers—
—and froze.
Her again.
In front of a locker, tapping her foot to her music, eyebrows slightly drawn as if the morning had already annoyed her. Up close, her features were sharper than I'd expected. High cheekbones. Defined jawline. Heart-shaped lips with a natural resting glare. Her skin was fair but warm-toned—sun-kissed without actually needing the sun.
I forced myself to look away before—
CRASH.
Someone slammed into me from behind, sending me stumbling—straight into her.
She hit the locker with a metallic clang that echoed down the hallway. My glasses nearly flew off; I caught them just in time, heart thundering in panic.
She whipped around so fast the air shifted with her.
"Who did that?!" she snapped, eyes sharp enough to shatter glass.
Even furious, she was… breathtaking. Unapologetically intense.
The guy who bumped into me froze mid-step.
I pointed at him. "It's him."
Yes, I snitched. I chose survival.
"I—I'm sorry, Francine," he stammered, shrinking under her glare.
Francine.
Her name struck something inside me—like a rusted lock finally cracking.
She grabbed the guy by the collar and yanked him forward with surprising strength. "Accident or not," she growled, "watch where you're going. Next time, know who you're hitting."
Then she shoved him away. Hard. He slammed into the lockers with an ugly thud, the sound bouncing through the corridor.
She didn't spare me a glance. Just walked off—hair swaying, shoulders tense, hands clenched.
But as soon as she was gone, something fluttered to the floor.
A class schedule.
I picked it up.
FRANCINE JISIKA FLORES
My lungs froze.
The fog inside my memory lifted for a moment—just one moment—but enough to hit me like a collision.
It was her.
After all these years.
The reason I came here.
The girl I made a promise for.
Blood rushed in my ears as I sprinted after her. Our schedules—identical. Perfectly aligned. Just as planned.
She moved up the stairs with quick, irritated strides.
I reached out. "Excuse me—Francine."
She shot me a sideways glare, jaw tight. "What?"
Up close, her face was even more detailed—defined nose bridge, sharp brows, lips pressed into an annoyed line, and eyes that scanned me with suspicion.
I held out the paper. "Your schedule fell." I miss that glare. I should've been scared or annoyed by her reaction, but instead, I was trying to restrain my lips from curving to the side.
She snatched it, muttering a clipped "Thanks," and marched off.
It's really her. My abandoned childhood friend. No. It was more than that, at least for me.
Though on her side, there was no recognition.
No spark.
Just annoyance.
But for me?
My entire chest felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.
She entered her classroom. I followed and sat a row behind her, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. My heart hammered every time she moved, every time her hair brushed her shoulder.
Then the girl before me turned around; I didn't look her in the eye as she stared at me blatantly. Did she recognize me already? But she wasn't saying anything. And I attempted to meet her gaze, to look at her beautiful face, but I stopped myself and bowed even more. And though I don't look, it wasn't just her who had their attention on me. Why are these people so bold?
Sweat crawled to the side of my face, and I had the urge to stand and get out from their scrutinizing observations.
If anyone recognized me—the real me—everything would fall apart.
The teacher entered right after. "Alright, let's begin. New student today. Please introduce yourself."
I stood so fast my chair screeched.
"I'm Andrew Claid," I said.
The lie rolled off easier than it should have.
"Nice to meet you."
Eyes lingered on me too long.
Eventually, class ended.
My heart raced instantly, and I felt it get caught up in the lump of my throat. "We—we have the same schedule."
She scanned her sheet. Blinked once. Twice. "Oh. You don't have a map."
I shook my head. Since I told my dad about reconnecting with her, he made everything easier for me then.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Figures. Come on."
There was no warmth in her voice. Just reluctant tolerance.
Our second class was history.
As soon as Francine stepped inside, chatter erupted.
"Dude, she actually wore a skirt."
"No way."
"She looks… different."
"She looks hot."
She ignored every whisper.
But a group of guys didn't.
Their leader dropped himself onto her desk casually, smirking. "Finally accepting you're still a girl?" he mocked.
Francine's jaw ticked.
Her fingers curled slowly into fists.
Her chest rose sharply with each breath.
She stood—slow, controlled—and slammed her palms onto the desk.
The crack was violent.
The room jolted to silence.
The guy smirked again. "Calm down. You're a girl, remember?"
His friends snickered.
My hands formed fists on instinct. I wanted to step between them, but I couldn't blow my cover. Not now. Not yet.
Her voice dropped low, simmering with barely leashed fury.
"I'm controlling myself not to hurt you, birdbrain."
The room burst into laughter—except him.
His face drained of color.
"Oh, easily offended too," she teased and then smirked. "Get lost," she hissed.
"Don't order me around, Francine. You're just a little girl; you know I could break your neck anytime," he threatened. Now, this was the moment I hoped would not gonna happen.
"And I'm so scared." She even hugged herself, mock-shivering. It only fueled the guy's annoyance. Then, her face turned instantly cold. "I'm in a very bad mood, birdbrain, so if you don't wanna get disfigured, get out of my sight."
Instead of moving away, he shoved forward, grabbing her shoulder.
Wrong move.
She twisted his wrist, pulled him off balance, and shoved him away. He stumbled, slamming into a chair.
"You don't touch me."
He lunged.
She struck first.
A perfect punch—clean angle, sharp execution, practiced impact. Blood burst from his nose. He staggered, swinging wildly. She ducked, drove her fist into his jaw, and sent him crashing to the floor.
His friends charged.
"ENOUGH!" the teacher roared.
Everyone froze.
The guy was sent to the clinic. His friends dragged him away, humiliated.
Francine sat beside me again, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. Her knuckles were swollen and faintly bruised. She flexed her fingers, trying to hide the pain. I know it hurt. And I really wanted to defend her earlier but was afraid my cover-ups would be thrown and my identity would be revealed. Besides, I think she could handle herself just fine.
But I wanted to speak.
To ask how she became like this…
So different, yet…
Still fierce.
Still the girl I remembered.
But she didn't know me.
So, I stayed silent.
Inside, though?
I remembered everything.
And I wasn't leaving her again.