OPENING SCENE
5:00 A.M. — University Dorm
Silence.
The kind of silence that only exists before sunrise. The air was still, heavy with the last breath of night. Four figures lay scattered across the cramped dorm room—blankets twisted, limbs hanging off mattresses, phones charging beside pillows like lifelines.
Then—
Bass exploded through the room.
Not music. Violence.
The speaker on Kelvin's desk roared to life, rattling metal bed frames and shaking the thin windowpanes. The beat was aggressive, triumphant, completely unnecessary for the hour.
Ethan jolted upright as if electrocuted, eyes wide, heart racing.
For a few disoriented seconds he thought the rapture had started.
Then he saw Kelvin.
Kelvin was sitting cross-legged on his bed, nodding his head like it was noon on a Saturday, completely at peace with the chaos he had unleashed.
Ethan dragged a hand down his face.
"Kelvin… what the actual hell?"
Kelvin didn't even look guilty.
"Bro, it's motivation music."
Ethan stared at him.
"It's five a.m."
"Exactly." Kelvin pointed at him like he'd just made a groundbreaking discovery. "Winners wake up early."
A pillow flew across the room and smacked Kelvin in the face.
"Music increases blood flow to the brain, bro," Kelvin continued, unfazed. "I'm literally helping you."
"You're helping me meet God early."
From the far corner of the room, Hero's calm voice cut through the bass like a documentary narrator.
"There's a psychological effect where repeated exposure makes people tolerate unpleasant stimuli. You seem immune to that process."
The room went quiet for half a second.
Kelvin blinked.
"…wait."
Before anyone could process that, another bed creaked loudly.
Shalom shot upright like he'd just received a revelation.
"What if Hitler thought he was the hero?"
The music kept playing.
No one moved.
Shalom looked around, completely serious.
"Like what if in his head he was just a broken guy trying to save his people?"
Dead silence.
Even the bass suddenly felt awkward.
Ethan stared at him. "Bro what???"
Jason, still half under his blanket, muttered, "That's crazy."
Shalom slowly looked down at his phone.
His expression changed.
Confusion.
Then panic.
"…Nah."
He scrolled faster.
"Nah nah nah nah."
Kelvin paused the music. "What?"
Shalom's face collapsed.
"Shit. I just lost my two weeks' allowance."
Ethan burst out laughing. "Already?"
"No, listen—" Shalom sat forward urgently. "I ran the analysis. I checked form, home advantage, referee bias, weather conditions—this was a lock."
Jason didn't even lift his head. "You say that every week."
"This one was different!" Shalom insisted. "Statistically speaking, the probability of—"
"—you being broke by Monday is 100%," Ethan cut in.
The room erupted in laughter.
Shalom clutched his chest like he'd been betrayed by mathematics itself.
Kelvin slowly turned the music back on, softer this time.
The laughter hadn't even fully died down when Ethan leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering into something calm… but dangerous.
"So what you're saying is," he began smoothly, "the universe personally hates you."
For half a second, the room processed it.
Then it exploded.
Shalom threw his hands up. "Don't joke with it. You don't know how to cook odds."
Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "I do. It's when you convince yourself you're smarter than reality."
Hero, who had been observing like a scientist documenting primates in their natural habitat, nodded once. "That's… actually accurate."
Kelvin pointed at Shalom, grinning. "Bro ran numbers just to lose money."
The laughter doubled.
Shalom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Haha. Funny."
Ethan stretched lazily. "I just don't get it. If your analysis is so good, why are you still broke every Monday?"
The room detonated.
Jason shot upright. "AYOOOOOO!"
Shalom stood up dramatically. "Dumbasses."
"I'm not the one fighting an app at 5 a.m.," Ethan added, completely unbothered.
Everyone was laughing now.
Everyone except Shalom.
"You know what?" Shalom snapped. "When I finally hit big, none of you are touching my money."
Ethan didn't miss a beat. "We've been hearing that since last semester."
More laughter.
"Fuck you all." Shalom raised a middle finger and sat back down.
That's when Kelvin slowly noticed something unsettling.
Evan Kremer was staring at him.
Not casually.
Not blinking.
Just… staring.
Kelvin swallowed. "Bro… why are you looking at me like that?"
Silence stretched.
Ethan leaned toward Jason and whispered, "I think this guy has a tendency to commit homicide."
Jason blinked. "What?"
"Like… either that or he's already a serial killer and Kelvin is his next target."
Jason's eyes widened. He turned sharply toward Evan, inhaling—
"AYO—"
Ethan grabbed him immediately. "Shut the fuck up. Do you want me to be next on his list?"
Jason slowly turned his head back toward Evan.
Evan was still staring.
Still not blinking.
"…Yeah," Jason whispered.
Kelvin's voice cracked slightly. "Why am I suddenly scared?"
From across the room, Salmon squinted in disgust. "Why are you brushing your teeth on your bed?!"
Hero continued brushing, completely calm. "Efficiency."
"You people are sick," Ethan muttered.
Kelvin pointed at him. "Bro, you sleep with socks on."
Ethan snapped upright. "THAT IS NOT RELEVANT."
"It absolutely is," Jason said.
Hero nodded thoughtfully. "Fact: socks in bed reduce character development."
"That's not a real fact," Salmon said.
"Source: trust me."
Kelvin stretched. "If you're not awake by now, that's a skill issue."
Hero glanced at Ethan. "Bro, if you die today, can I have your charger?"
Ethan turned slowly. "The fuck?"
Hero checked his phone, tone suddenly neutral. "Don't we all have 8 a.m. classes today?"
A beat.
The realization hit them collectively.
"…Shit."
Ethan was already moving. "Bathroom's mine."
He sprinted.
"Too slow, fuckers!" he yelled from inside.
Kelvin groaned. "I hate this guy."
---
Bathroom Chaos
What followed was less a routine and more a battlefield.
Toothbrushes flew.
Someone nearly died in slippery bathroom slippers.
Jason sprayed so much cologne the air itself became flammable.
Kelvin argued with his reflection like it owed him money.
Shalom angrily refreshed his betting app like intimidation might change the score.
Evan stood in the hallway.
Watching.
Still not blinking.
Eventually, Ethan emerged first—fresh, composed, victorious.
He stopped in front of the mirror, adjusted his shirt, flexed slightly.
"Damn," he murmured to himself. "How am I still single?"
He tilted his head, studying his reflection like art.
"You can't tell me nobody wants a piece of this."
The door swung open.
Shalom walked past him without stopping.
"You're scared of girls, broke by choice, and you dress like you're auditioning to be someone's 'almost.'"
For half a second, silence.
Then the room collapsed.
Jason nearly fell over laughing. "NAHHHH!"
Kelvin pointed dramatically. "That's insane."
Hero nodded solemnly. "He got you there, bro."
Ethan turned slowly, expression calm but eyes sharp.
"Crazy," he replied smoothly, "coming from a man whose love life depends on an app and poor refereeing."
The laughter somehow got louder.
Shalom opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
Because unfortunately…
That one landed too.
In the background, the room never truly settled.
Hero sat calmly on his bed, tying his shoelaces with monk-like focus—as if the chaos around him was white noise engineered for concentration.
Kelvin suddenly yelled from across the room.
"WHO used my perfume?"
Jason, half-dressed and dancing to music only he could hear, spun dramatically. "It wasn't me. I respect luxury."
Kelvin sniffed the air suspiciously. "That bottle was imported."
Near the doorway, Evan Kremer slowly paced past.
Not walking.
Pacing.
Like a background character in a psychological thriller.
Ethan paused mid-button and watched him.
"Why does he move like that?"
Hero didn't look up. "Efficiency."
Ethan stared a second longer. "…That doesn't explain anything."
He finished dressing just as a sharp knock hit the door.
"Yo, Ethan," Chris Miller's voice called from outside. "You better be ready or I'm leaving without you."
Ethan flung the door open and bowed dramatically.
"At your service, my liege."
Chris blinked. "The fuck is wrong with you?"
Ethan straightened, face perfectly serious.
"Two plus two is thirty-nine."
A beat.
Chris stared at him.
Behind Ethan, the dorm door swung wider.
Kelvin stepped into view, eyes shining. "Nahhh. That's genius."
Jason nodded aggressively. "I'm telling you, he thinks on a higher plane."
Hero adjusted his backpack. "This is how Einstein sounded before people understood him."
Salmon folded his arms. "Bro is operating in dimensions we can't access."
Shalom pointed solemnly. "They mocked Galileo too."
Evan Kremer slowly raised a finger, eyes locked ahead.
"Visionary."
The room nodded in collective agreement.
Ethan crossed his arms, calm. "Exactly."
Chris looked at all of them.
Long stare.
Deep sigh.
"…Dumbasses."
They filed out of the dorm.
Campus Walk — Morning
The campus was alive now.
Students moved in waves—headphones on, laughter echoing, backpacks bouncing with each step. The air carried that familiar early-morning blend of ambition and exhaustion.
Ethan walked beside Chris with his hands tucked into his pockets.
Calm.
Nonchalant.
Unbothered.
Chris side-eyed him. "Really, bro?"
Ethan didn't react. "Really what?"
"You've been doing this since first year. This nonchalant act is getting old—and annoying."
"What act?"
"The one where you pretend women don't exist."
Ethan leaned slightly closer and lowered his voice.
"Yo. I don't want to embarrass myself in front of the huzz."
Chris choked on air. "You're a grown man."
"I'm twenty," Ethan corrected. "That's a trial version of adulthood."
Chris shook his head, laughing despite himself.
"I'm still in the tutorial," Ethan continued. "Girls are like endgame bosses."
"You're actually insane."
Chris said.
"Cautious."
Ethan continued
"One wrong sentence and boom—character development."
"You're in third year."
"Exactly," Ethan said calmly. "I'm tired of lessons."
They passed a group of girls.
Ethan stared straight ahead like a soldier ignoring landmines.
Chris nudged him. "You know you don't look mysterious, right?"
"I do."
"You look scared."
"Same thing."
Chris laughed again. "You're a clown."
"A disciplined clown."
---
Lecture Hall — Pharmacy (8:00 A.M.)
The hall buzzed with low chatter.
Chairs scraped. Laptops opened. Phones lit up tired faces. Some students were already half-asleep, heads resting on folded arms.
Ethan and Chris walked in.
The lecturer hadn't arrived yet.
His squad was already there.
George spotted them first. "Finally."
"Thought you slept in," Theodore added.
"I was fighting for my life," Ethan replied.
They laughed.
Ethan dropped into his seat.
And instantly relaxed.
This was his territory.
Marcus leaned over. "Bro, you saw that game last night?"
"Don't remind me," Emmanuel groaned. "My money disappeared."
"That's what happens when you trust vibes instead of logic," Luke Adams said.
Laughter.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, smiling, talking louder now.
This version of him was effortless.
Confident.
Unfiltered.
A completely different person from the hyper-aware guy outside.
Then—
The lecture hall door opened.
A few heads turned.
The noise dipped slightly.
Ethan didn't notice at first. He was mid-sentence.
"I'm telling you, if I ever bet—"
He glanced up.
And froze.
The words died in his throat.
Because she had just walked in.
Oh.
That was the only word Ethan's brain could produce.
Claire Bennett walked in like she wasn't aware the room subtly shifted when she did. Effortless. Calm. The kind of pretty that didn't need to announce itself. No exaggerated makeup. No loud energy. Just… presence.
She moved with quiet confidence, Naomi beside her—just as attractive, just as animated, whispering something that made Claire laugh.
Ethan straightened in his seat without realizing he had.
Nope.
He immediately looked down at his phone, thumb scrolling through absolutely nothing.
Nonchalant face back on.
Beside him, Chris watched the transformation with mild amusement.
"Here we go," he muttered under his breath.
Ethan said nothing.
But his leg had started bouncing.
Claire and Naomi slid into their usual seats—middle row, aisle side.
Naomi dropped her bag dramatically. "I swear if today's lecture is long, I'm sleeping."
"You say that every time," Claire replied.
They both laughed.
From the side entrance, Ryan Carter stepped in.
Year Four confidence. Clean fit. Calm walk. No rush in his movements. The kind of senior who had already figured things out—or at least pretended convincingly.
He walked straight to Naomi, bent slightly, and kissed her forehead.
"Hey."
"You're supposed to be in class," Naomi said.
"I had time."
A few students nearby clocked it immediately.
Claire barely reacted. This was routine.
Then a chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Tyler Monroe slid into the seat directly in front of Claire and turned around almost instantly.
Latest iPhone. Flashy watch. Expensive cologne that arrived before he did.
Too close.
"Claire," he said smoothly. "Didn't think you'd come this early."
"Morning, Tyler," she replied, polite but distant.
"I'm thinking after class we grab coffee," he continued. "I'll drive."
He tapped his car keys lightly against the desk for emphasis.
Naomi noticed. Rolled her eyes slightly.
"She has class, Tyler."
"So do I," he said with a small smirk. "Still here, aren't I?"
Claire gave a tight smile.
Didn't commit to anything.
Across the hall, Ethan's eyes flicked up.
He saw Tyler leaning in.
Saw the keys.
Saw the proximity.
He held the look for one second.
Then looked away immediately.
Yeah… not my problem.
His jaw tightened slightly anyway.
Chris noticed.
"You good?"
"Fine."
Ethan leaned back in his seat like nothing in the world concerned him.
Theodore leaned over. "Did you guys see the new episode that dropped last night?"
"Don't spoil it," Ethan said quickly. "I haven't recovered emotionally yet."
"That fight scene was insane," Luke Adams added. "The animation budget actually showed up."
Marcus King snorted. "Anime is still weird."
Ethan glanced at him. "Coming from the guy who screams at the TV like the players can hear him."
"That's passion."
"It's distress," George said flatly.
"It's different."
"It's really not."
Laughter rippled through the row.
The tension Ethan had just buried softened slightly.
Emmanuel leaned forward. "This PCH is about to cook us though. Have you seen how the questions are being set lately?"
"They don't want understanding anymore," Ethan said. "They want suffering."
"Especially calculations," Theodore added. "One mistake and it's over."
"At this point I just pray for mercy," Luke sighed.
More laughter.
George stretched. "After classes today, who's down for cafeteria?"
"If we're going, we're playing FIFA," Marcus declared.
"Obviously," Theodore agreed.
Ethan shrugged casually. "Winner stays, loser buys drinks."
"You just want free stuff," Emmanuel said.
"I have faith in my abilities."
They all nodded like this was a legally binding agreement.
"Alright," Marcus said. "After last class."
Across the hall—
Claire glanced over.
It was subtle.
Just a brief look in Ethan's direction.
He was mid-conversation, laughing at something George had said.
He didn't notice.
Yet.
Across the hall, Claire glanced over again.
This time—
Ethan noticed.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Not long enough to be awkward. Long enough to mean something.
Claire smiled.
Then she lifted her hand and waved.
Ethan froze.
A microscopic pause.
Then he casually raised his hand in return.
Two fingers. Small motion. Controlled. Effortless.
Like this was routine. Like women waved at him daily.
His face didn't change.
Inside, chaos detonated.
Why is she waving. Why is she waving at me.
Stay cool.
Don't smile too hard. Don't wave too slow. Don't wave too fast.
His brain began replaying humiliations at lightning speed.
Him tripping on the stairs last semester.
Him mispronouncing a drug name in class and pretending it was intentional.
That one time he waved back at someone who absolutely was not waving at him.
Nightmare fuel.
Wait.
Did his hoodie still smell like last night's noodles?
Did I do something embarrassing recently?
What if this is about attendance.
What if she thinks I'm someone else.
He lowered his hand smoothly.
Leaned back in his chair.
Still cool.
Still unreadable.
Act normal.
Normal men get waved at. Normal men don't panic.
Chris leaned in slightly, a smirk threatening his composure.
"You good?"
"Yeah."
A beat.
"Why?"
Claire turned back to Naomi like nothing had happened.
But someone else had noticed.
Tyler.
Designer shoes. Loud confidence. Subtle ego.
He followed Claire's gaze.
Saw Ethan.
Held the stare just a second too long.
His eyes did a slow scan—from Ethan's hoodie… to his jeans… to his shoes.
A faint smirk.
He leaned toward Claire like he was about to comment.
Ethan felt it.
Didn't look back.
Stayed nonchalant.
Why do I feel like I've just been added to someone's enemy list.
Before the tension could evolve—
The lecture hall doors opened.
The lecturer stepped in.
"Good morning."
The entire hall groaned internally but straightened immediately.
Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Phones disappeared.
Tyler clicked his tongue softly.
"I'll see you after class," he told Claire with a polished smile.
He and Ryan stood and headed toward the Year Four section.
Claire faced forward again.
Ethan finally exhaled.
---
Lecture Montage
Slides flipped too fast.
Bullet points appeared and disappeared like threats.
Ethan wrote quickly—then stopped—then stared at the board like the words might rearrange themselves into clarity.
Luke nodded confidently.
He did not understand.
Someone behind them whispered, "What?"
The lecturer casually said, "This will be in the exam."
Collective silent panic.
Pens moved faster.
Brains slowed down.
---
Lab Practicals
Lab coats on.
Gloves snapped.
Glassware clinked.
Someone definitely did something wrong but was pretending it was part of the process.
Ethan double-checked his measurements carefully.
Theodore squinted at his results like squinting would make them correct.
A beaker tipped slightly.
Liquid spilled.
Time froze.
"Who did this?" the lab assistant demanded.
Everyone suddenly found something extremely important to focus on.
---
End of Day
Late afternoon.
The department hallway looked like a battlefield of academic casualties.
Students dragged themselves forward. Dead eyes. Backpacks hanging low.
George exhaled dramatically. "That day was unnecessarily long."
"I aged," Luke muttered.
"I need food or sleep," Theodore said. "Possibly both."
George checked his phone. "I'm gone. My girlfriend has already started the 'where are you' texts."
"I'm heading back," Luke said. "My brain is cooked."
"I'm not stepping near FIFA today," Theodore added. "I'll lose and get angry for no reason."
"I might still go out," Emmanuel said. "Or sleep. Or stare at the ceiling."
They all nodded in solemn understanding.
"Same time tomorrow?" Marcus asked.
"If we survive," Ethan replied.
Quick handshakes. Fist bumps.
They split off one by one.
The hallway slowly emptied.
INT. Lecture Hall — Late Afternoon
The room was almost silent now.
A few scattered students. The soft hum of the AC.
Ethan walked back in.
Dropped his bag.
Sat.
He pulled out his phone and opened the lecture slides.
Scrolled.
Paused.
Zoomed in.
I'll just review for five minutes.
Five minutes stretched.
He switched to his notes. Highlighted something. Frowned. Scrolled back up.
Why do they explain it like we're supposed to already know it?
He rubbed his face. Leaned back. Stared at the ceiling for a second.
Then back to the screen.
Focused.
Quiet.
For the first time all day.
The lecture hall door opened softly.
Claire walked in.
He didn't look up.
Yet.
She paused just inside the doorway and scanned the room.
Her eyes landed on him.
Alone.
Focused.
Different from the loud version from earlier.
She hesitated.
Then chose a seat a few rows away.
Sat down.
Pulled out her iPad.
Started scrolling.
The hall felt smaller now.
Quieter.
Ethan still hadn't looked up.
But he could feel it.
Someone else was still there.
The hall was quiet again.
Calm. Composed.
Another door opened.
Tyler stepped in.
Well-dressed. Controlled. Too controlled. The kind of confidence that needed witnesses.
He spotted Claire instantly.
Of course he did.
He walked over and leaned casually against the desk beside her, close enough to claim space without technically invading it.
"Hey, Claire. Long day, huh?"
She offered a polite smile. The kind that said I acknowledge you but nothing more.
"Yeah… really long."
"Same," Tyler said smoothly. "I was thinking maybe we could— you know— grab something later? You deserve a break."
He said it like he was offering her an upgrade.
Claire nodded slowly.
Still polite.
Still slightly uncomfortable.
"I actually need to check something really quick," she said. "I'll be back."
She stood.
Tyler smiled, already assuming victory.
"Sure. Sure. Take your time."
She walked away.
Straight past him.
Toward Ethan.
She dropped into the seat beside him.
Ethan froze for half a second.
Then leaned back like this was expected.
"Sup," he said casually. "You need something?"
Why is she sitting here.
Why is she sitting HERE.
"Yeah, um…" Claire turned her iPad toward him. "I was confused about the calculation from earlier. The buffer ratio part."
Ethan nodded.
Looked at the screen.
Pretended to read.
I am not reading a single word.
She smelled good.
Focus. Focus.
"Uh— yeah," he began. "So basically… you just— divide… the thing… by the other thing."
He gestured vaguely at nothing.
Claire paused.
"…Ethan."
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Snapped upright.
"Yeah. Totally. Just… processing."
Processing WHAT?
My ancestors are watching this.
Claire's lips curved slightly. Not mocking.
Amused.
"Right."
She scooted her chair a little closer.
Continued explaining the material herself—pointing, talking, actually focused.
Ethan nodded like he understood every word.
He did not.
She chose this seat. She chose ME.
Stay calm. Do not fumble.
Across the hall, Tyler noticed.
His smile faded.
Just slightly.
Ethan forced himself to actually look at the screen.
Cleared his throat.
"Okay— yeah. That part you circled? That's where most people mess up."
There it was.
Confidence.
Real this time.
Claire looked at him properly now.
"Ohhh. That makes sense actually."
He relaxed a fraction.
Okay. We're alive.
Tyler watched.
Annoyed. Quiet. Calculating.
Claire glanced toward the door, then back at Ethan.
"Hey— give me a second, okay?"
"Yeah," he said smoothly. "Take your time."
Why does that sound like I'm married.
She walked back to Tyler.
He straightened instantly.
"Everything good?"
"Yeah," she said gently. "I just wanted to be clear about something."
He leaned in.
"You're really nice, and I appreciate that," she continued. "But I'm not looking to hang out like that right now."
Direct.
Measured.
No hostility.
"I don't want to give the wrong impression."
Tyler chuckled lightly.
"Oh— yeah, no worries. I get it."
He didn't.
But he nodded anyway.
"Maybe another time."
"Maybe."
She gave him a respectful smile.
Then turned.
And walked back to Ethan.
Sat beside him again.
Deliberate.
She came back.
She CAME BACK.
Ethan kept his face neutral.
"Everything good?"
"Yeah. Just needed to clear something up."
She slid her notes toward him again.
"So— where were we?"
He finally looked at her.
A beat.
"Buffer ratios."
And apparently… life.
They leaned in slightly.
Close enough to share the screen.
Close enough to notice each other.
Claire flipped a page in her notes.
Casual.
Too casual.
"You're really calm for someone who hasn't blinked in like… two minutes."
Ethan froze microscopically.
Then stretched like it was intentional.
"I blinked."
"Mmh," she hummed. "Internally or externally?"
She was looking at him now.
Fully amused.
Abort. She sees everything.
"I just focus when I study," he replied.
"Right. Because your leg shaking under the desk is very academic."
She tapped his knee lightly with her pen.
His leg stopped instantly.
Too instantly.
Caught.
"Bad habit," he muttered.
"Sure. You always get nervous around lecture slides?"
He exhaled.
Small laugh.
Let the mask crack just a little.
"Only the ones that talk back."
That earned him a real smile.
The kind that lingers.
She reached for her phone.
Unlocked it.
Slid it across the desk toward him.
"Give me your number."
He blinked.
For real this time.
"For… buffer ratios?"
"For when you inevitably panic about buffer ratios at 2 a.m."
She tilted her head slightly.
"And because it'd be weird if I sat next to you twice and didn't."
He typed his number carefully.
Handed the phone back.
Trying very hard not to look proud.
Stay calm. Stay mysterious. Do not fumble.
She saved it.
Then looked at him again.
"So. This weekend."
His brain short-circuited.
"This weekend…?"
"Yeah. A date."
She said it plainly.
Confident. Not teasing.
"Coffee. Or food. Somewhere public so you don't think I'm a serial killer."
A beat.
"Unless you're busy."
He recovered. Barely.
"I mean— I was planning to… exist. So yeah. I'm free."
She laughed softly.
"Good. I'll text you."
She stood and picked up her bag.
"Try not to overthink it."
She paused at the aisle.
Looked back at him.
"You're really bad at hiding when you're nervous."
Then she walked out.
The door closed gently behind her.
Ethan sat there.
Alone.
Phone in his hand.
Staring at the screen like it might confirm this was real.
What the hell just happened.