The morning sun blazed gloriously overhead, its rays dancing off windshields and painted surfaces, half-blinding the streams of students who hurried across campus with their belongings.
It was the final day of term—that peculiar occasion when the college transformed into organized chaos, everyone eager to begin their holiday yet somehow reluctant to leave.
The campus grounds hummed with energy.
Students darted between residence halls, their arms laden with bags and boxes.
The institution had much to be proud of: its pristine athletic fields, its state-of-the-art facilities, and especially the newly constructed administrative wing that gleamed like a trophy in the afternoon light. Still, ask any student, and they'd tell you the same thing—nothing compared to going home.
The dining hall fare remained the college's singular failure.
The tea resembled dishwater, the meals were uninspired, yet somehow the students wore their complaints like badges of honor. It was part of the culture, part of the experience they'd one day reminisce about fondly.
A young woman in a fitted skirt and heels navigated the crowded pathway, a rolled mattress tucked awkwardly under one arm, a bulging suitcase clutched in her opposite hand.
Her hair was styled in an intricate braid that sat elegantly at the crown of her head.
She took a step, her heel caught on uneven pavement, and she stumbled forward.
Before she could fall, a figure appeared before her, hands extended.
"Let me help you with that," a young man said, grinning as he gestured toward her suitcase.
"Please," she breathed, relief flooding her voice.
He lifted the case and immediately understood why she'd nearly fallen—the thing weighed a ton.
He glanced at her impractical footwear and tailored outfit, suppressing a smile. They walked together in companionable silence toward the main gate.
Outside, she indicated a silver luxury SUV. A uniformed driver rushed forward to relieve her of the mattress.
The luggage disappeared into the backseat, and they returned to the residence area together.
"I noticed you from across the quad," he said. "Why take the mattress home?"
"It's mine.
The one provided was too firm, so I brought my own from home."
His eyebrows lifted. "You do this every semester?"
She laughed. "That would be absurd. No, this is my last day here—I've completed my program.
Everything goes home now."
"Lucky you. Congratulations.
I still have another year ahead of me.
What did you study?"
"Business Administration."
"Excellent field. I'm in Management Studies myself.
" They paused outside one of the women's dormitories.
"Do you have more to carry?"
"Actually, yes—if you don't mind.
There's another suitcase and several bags still in my room," she admitted, somewhat sheepishly.
As they made multiple trips back and forth, Clifford couldn't help noticing the sheer volume of her possessions.
Suitcases, decorative boxes, a small lamp, cushions—she'd brought enough to furnish a small apartment.
Everything spoke of quality and careful selection, transforming what should have been a basic dormitory room into something far more comfortable.
At least the women's residence hall offered more space than the men's, he thought. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been room for half of this.
The afternoon sun had grown intense, and he found himself squinting against its glare. He wished he'd remembered his sunglasses.
They completed the remaining trips without much conversation, focused on navigating the narrow stairwell with her belongings.
When the last item was finally loaded into the already-packed vehicle, she turned to him with evident gratitude.
"Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help."
"Happy to do it," he said, preparing to leave.
"Wait—you mentioned you're leaving too.
Don't you need to pack your own things?"
"I do, but I have time.
I prefer waiting until the crowds thin out," he explained with a shrug.
"The chaos isn't really my style."
She smiled at that.
"We've been talking all this time, and I don't even know your name."
"Claire Hartwell," she said, extending her hand formally.
"Clifford Pepple," he replied, giving an exaggerated bow that made her laugh.
"Pepple—that's from Howard City, isn't it? You're quite far from home."
"So are you," he countered.
"At least now I know I'm not the only one."
They both laughed at the coincidence.
Their handshake was followed by a simultaneous "Pleasure to meet you," which sent them into another round of laughter at their own formality.
Clifford was about to head back toward the men's residence when Claire called after him once more.