Thursdays were weird.
Just… weird.
Joren walked across campus like a ghost in a hoodie. No classes today. No obligations to fulfill. Just time — and way too much of it.
The sun was out already, but it didn't feel warm. It just hung there, bright and indifferent. The breeze blew with a bit more force than usual, tugging at his sleeves and whispering through the trees like it had something to say. He didn't care. He just walked.
He passed a couple arguing near the cafeteria. Some guy was trying to explain why he didn't text back. The girl wasn't buying it. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows doing that thing that said she'd already made up her mind. Joren didn't slow down.
He passed a group of freshmen laughing too loud. One of them pointed at his hoodie and said something — probably a joke, maybe a compliment, maybe nothing. Joren didn't hear it. Didn't want to.
He reached the dorm building, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.
The hallway smelled like someone had microwaved fish. Again.
He walked past doors with music leaking out, doors with silence behind them, doors that had voices — laughter, arguments, someone singing off-key. Life was happening. Just not to him.
His own door was halfway down the hall. He swiped his key card, pushed it open, and stepped into the room.
It was empty.
Dale wasn't around. Just his bed, his desk, and the hoodie he'd left on the chair two days ago. He'd probably gone to class. Or maybe out for a jog. Or maybe to go see some girl.
Joren dropped his bag, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the bed.
"Man. Nothing to do."
He sighed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer suggestions.
"Thursdays are so boring," he muttered.
No classes. No drama. No chaos. Just nothing. And he hated it.
He sat up slowly, eyes drifting to the desk. A stack of books sat there, untouched — some half-open, some still wrapped in plastic like they were allergic to attention. He stared at them for a moment.
"Maybe I'll just go to the library," he said to himself, his voice flat.
He stood, stretched, and took a step toward the door — then froze.
Something smelled.
He sniffed once. Then again. Then looked around like the room might confess.
"What the hell is that?" he mumbled.
He lifted his arm, sniffed his hoodie, and winced.
"Oh. Damn. That's me."
He hadn't showered since crashing at Tasha's place.
He grabbed his towel, headed to the bathroom, and took the fastest shower of his life. The water was cold at first, then warm, then too hot, but he didn't care. He just wanted to feel clean. Or at least less gross.
Ten minutes later, he was dressed in a clean t-shirt and shorts, hair still damp, sneakers half-tied. He stepped out of the room and into the sun.
The walk to the library wasn't long. Just a few buildings away. But it felt like a pilgrimage — like he was walking toward redemption.
He barely went to the library. Ever. So this? This was his academic comeback. Or at least the start of it. Or maybe just a way to kill time.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled like old paper and quiet ambition.
He filled out the paperwork at the front desk, scribbling his name quickly, his writing illegible. The librarian barely looked up, just nodded and pointed toward the shelves.
Then came the hard part: picking a book.
Most of them were academic nonsense — thick, dry, and full of words that bounced off his brain like rubber bullets. He scanned the titles, squinting at covers that looked like they hadn't been touched since the early 2000s.
He sighed, and settled on something simple: a fiction novel with some over-achieving superhero on the cover and a title that sounded vaguely dramatic. He didn't know what it meant, but it looked cool.
He took it to a table near the window, sat down, and opened to the first page.
The words were easy. The story pulled him in. For once, he didn't have to anything else, just fiction. Just a guy wearing his underpants on the outside.
He read for a while. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe more. The sun shifted outside, casting long shadows across the floor. The library stayed quiet, except for the occasional cough or the soft thud of someone dropping a book.
Then — a tap on his back.
He turned.
And paused.