[Somewhere around mid Mayđ]
The Rapunzel in my dreams still haunts me.
Every night, without fail, she appears in my mind like it's her damn job. That same girl, standing in front of a mirror, brushing her impossibly dark hair like she's got nothing better to do than torment my already sleep-deprived soul. I know she's the girl in my dreams-just a dream. But now, she feels more like my dream girl. Obsessed? Yeah, a little. Maybe a lot.
I just wish I could see her. Like actually see her-if she even exists.
Lately, my sleeping schedule's gone completely off the rails. Final semester pressure is no joke. Projects, exams, group tasks with people who don't know the difference between Excel and existential dread. It's all piling up. I've been staying up late, pretending to study, but mostly scrolling through my phone or staring at the ceiling.
It was Sunday morning.
I was sitting at my usual corner in a coffee shop, one leg crossed over the other, sipping my over-expensive cappuccino and waiting for Rylan to show up. I needed my thesis draft back from him-the guy borrowed it "to check something" and ended up holding it hostage for three days. Classic.
But instead of Rylan, someone else walked into the scene-straight from the pages of my memory.
Claire.
High school senior, two years older than me, and someone who-well, let's just say we were friendly. I'd heard she was working at a clinic these days. She must've seen me through the glass, because the way she was walking in had purpose written all over it.
"Ash! Long time no see."
I looked up, gave her one of my warmest smiles-yeah, the one I usually save for moments like this-and offered her the seat facing mine.
"Claire," I said, genuinely glad to see her. She was one of the very few girls I actually liked. I mean, I like older women in general, but she? She was special-mature, classy, and never the type to turn a moment into a melodrama. That alone earned her some solid points.
"How are you, Senior?" I asked with a smirk, winking at her.
She laughed softly, exactly how I remembered. "I lost your number, Ash. That's why I couldn't even wish you on your birthday last year."
I raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief, leaning back as she pulled her phone out from her purse.
"Come on now, give me your damn number."
I smirked again, slow and deliberate. Looked like I just found someone to help distract me from Daisy's clingy texts and my general lack of motivation.
"Oh Claire," I sighed dramatically, "I forgot my phone at home. Don't remember the number, either."
She narrowed her eyes, catching on immediately.
I didn't wait. "Let's go to my place. You'll get the number there."
Her lips curled in that familiar smile. "As straightforward as ever, Ash."
Well, she wasn't wrong.
We headed to my apartment. I unlocked the door, talking casually-already preparing a playlist in my head-but the moment we stepped inside, all thoughts went dead silent.
Because sitting there-on my couch-was my dad.
And his secretary guy beside him.
What. On. Earth.
"Dad?"
I called out with every ounce of patience I had left.
He looked from Claire to me, then back again. His expression was unreadable, but I could practically hear his brain buffering.
"Hello, Uncle," Claire said smoothly, effortlessly slipping into grace mode. One of the many reasons I liked her-she had a real brain and knew when to use it. "I'm Asher's friend. Nice to meet you."
Left with no other option, my dad gave her a stiff nod. Her poise must have reassured him; the suspicion in his eyes faded a little. Claire stood up, her voice still calm and clear.
"Well, I should get going. Bye, Uncle. See you, Ash."
She walked out, closing the door quietly behind her like she hadn't just stepped into the middle of a domestic ambush.
Dad sat down again on the couch like it was his place. "Was she your girlfriend?"
I rolled my eyes. "What? No. She's just a senior. But seriously-how the hell did you even get in here?"
A god of silence passed between us for a full minute before he answered.
"I got the password from owner of the building."
Wow. That simple, huh?
I stared at him. Of course he would make an entrance like this. A call or a text? Too normal for my father. He preferred drama-big entrances, unscheduled lectures, the whole package.
I stayed silent. Let him speak first.
He finally said, "Last time... I was in a bad temper."
There it was. The pre-apology. My old man never really said sorry. He just made peace offerings and hoped I'd shut up.
"Don't worry about the rent," he added. "It'll be transferred from the company from now on."
That actually was good news. "Wow, Dad. Very generous of you. But next time, don't break into my apartment like this."
He looked at me, defensive. "I just wanted to see where you were living. Your mom insisted-"
"Nope," I cut him off coldly. "She's not my mom, Dad. Just because I respect her doesn't mean I have to pretend she's anything else."
He didn't argue. He knew better. That was one line I didn't let anyone cross.
My eyes flicked to his secretary-still awkwardly perched beside him, pretending to check emails or do anything except witness our very personal family mess. Why did he even bring the guy?
Dad sighed and stood up. "I know your exams are coming. Keep focused."
He left it at that and stood, nodding to the secretary.
"Come on," he muttered, and then they both walked out, taking the chaos with them.
Just like that, my quiet Sunday morning plans-with a lovely Claire distraction-were ruined.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Claire?
But-wait. Claire didn't even have my number.
I glanced at the screen.
'Lan.'
Crap. I completely forgot.
The moment I picked up, I was greeted with an explosion.
"Where the hell are you? It's been 25 minutes-I'm standing here like an idiot, holding your damn thesis!"
"Relax, Lan," I muttered, too tired to care. "Come to my apartment, give me my property, and get lost."
He cursed under his breath and hung up.
Ten minutes later, my doorbell was having a seizure.
I opened it.
"Give me," I said, hand out.
Rylan stared at me like I just insulted his ancestors.
"I ran from the coffee shop to your place," he said, panting slightly. "With your precious pile of nonsense, and you're not even inviting me in?"
I crossed my arms. "No."
"What the hell, Ash?"
I leaned against the doorframe. "You could've left it with the barista. I would've picked it up later. Maybe."
He narrowed his eyes. "Unbelievable. I'm going to frame this thing and burn it in front of you someday."
"Tempting. But just hand it over."
He clutched the rolled-up pages like they were a hostage. "Not until I get at least a glass of water. Or something stronger."
I sighed and stepped aside. "Fine. Enter. "
He walked in like he owned the place and flopped onto my couch with all the grace of a dead fish.
I grabbed two mugs from the kitchen. "Coffee?"
He raised a brow. "You've got whiskey. Don't pretend."
"Not before noon."
"It's 12:03."
"That's barely after noon."
He smirked. "Exactly. Which makes it legal."
I poured us both coffee anyway.
Rylan watched me from the couch, arms crossed.
"Really? No whiskey?"
I handed him the mug. "Shut up and drink it."
He took a sniff, expecting betrayal.
Then a sip and his whole face changed.
"...Okay, damn. This is actually good."
"I know," I said, settling next to him with my own mug. "You forget I'm a caffeine addict with taste."
He grumbled but kept drinking.
"But just saying," he added between sips, "a splash of whiskey wouldn't hurt. You know, Irish-style. Celebratory. For academic excellence."
"You're holding my thesis. I don't think you earned a celebration."
"Excuse me," he said, mouth half-full of coffee. "I ran through half the city for this thing. A toddler nearly ran me over. No remorse in his eyes-none."
I raised a brow. "You got punked by a kid?"
"He had a scooter, man. No brakes. Full speed. It was either him or me."
I laughed. "Tragic."
Rylan muttered something into his cup, still clearly offended.
[Almost end of Mayđ]
Finally, the exams started at the end of May.
Management papers aren't exactly a walk in the park, but I came out fine. All-nighters and caffeine overdoses saved me. Rylan, on the other hand, claims he has "thick chances of being knocked off the grid," his words-dramatic, as usual.
"You don't understand," he groaned after our Strategic Management paper, collapsing on professors desk. "That exam was evil. Like the professor had a personal vendetta."
"Or maybe," I said, "you just didn't study."
Rylan scowled. "I did. Kinda. I just didn't study what came."
Meanwhile, Sam and Leon, both Chemical Science majors, were doing pretty well-at least according to Sam. We weren't sure if we should believe him or book him in for an MRI. I mean, Leon getting good grades? That's expected. The guy probably sleeps while solving quantum equations. But Sam? When he said he handled the organic chemistry paper like a boss, we all stared at him like he grew a third eye.
"You didn't cheat?" Rylan asked bluntly.
Sam raised his hands. "Swear on my lab coat."
Kyle, our quiet Astrophysics guy, was more hesitant. He wouldn't say if he did great or terrible. Just sipped his juice and mumbled things like, "The orbital mechanics section was... okay, I guess."
"Dude, you study stars and gravity," Leon told him, "and you sound like you just made peace with death."
Kyle shrugged. "I probably did. That dynamics question? It changed me."
We had a lot of fun grilling Sam during our last group session.
"Hey Sam," Leon grinned, "do you remember how to extract sulfuric acid in a lab setup?"
Sam blinked. "Uhh... you boil... something... then... uh..."
"Explosion," I added helpfully. "That's how it ends."
He chucked a marker at me. "Y'all just jealous cause I finally passed without bribing the lab assistant."
Somehow, by the end of June, the chaos was over. The last paper was turned in, the final reports submitted, and we had survived another year-our fourth year. The scariest one.
Before the fifth year began-our official graduation year-we had a small vacation window. The university always holds entrance exams for incoming first-years around this time, so senior students like us get a breather.
And that's when things get interesting.
New batch of girls. Every year, it's the same pattern: freshers arrive, wide-eyed and nervous, and boom-my fame shoots up. Rumor has it, a few girls applied to this university just to see me in person. I'm not flattering myself; it's a documented phenomenon. Rylan even jokes there should be a warning sign on campus: Caution: Looking at Asher Warren for too long may cause temporary romantic delusion.
Well, what can I say? I'm a people person.