James pushed open the door to his lodge room with a quiet sigh, dropping his backpack gently beside his bed. The room was warm, lived-in but tidy, with two other desks, two other beds, and clothes hung in half-neat lines by the window. His roommates, Peter and Samuel, looked up as he stepped in.
"Welcome back," Samuel said with an easy grin. "Long day?"
"You look like someone who ran an errand through the whole city," Peter added.
James chuckled softly and sat on the edge of his bed. "Something like that."
He wasn't used to this—conversation, people asking how his day went. In high school, he had been polite but distant, focused on grades and survival. Friendship wasn't a luxury he could afford. Even now, sitting here, he reminded himself why he came to the university: to change his life… to give his parents hope… to build something bigger than poverty.
He had spent the early morning rushing between cybercafés, printing stacks of flyers offering private tutoring services. Mathematics. Physics. Chemistry. Whatever could earn him money. He had walked through campus pinning them to every notice board he could find. It was the only way he could pay for textbooks, data, meals—everything.
That was why he missed the previous day's class.
He needed income.
He didn't have time for distractions.
He didn't have time for friends.
And especially, he reminded himself, he didn't have time for the strange curiosity he felt when he saw that girl in class today—the one who smirked when he joked with the professor, the one who boldly whispered about how handsome he was, disrupting the class.
He didn't even know her name yet.
And he shouldn't care.
He told himself that repeatedly.
"So how was class today?" Samuel asked, stretching on his bed.
James hesitated. "Fine. I was late, though."
Peter raised a brow. "Trouble?"
"Not exactly." James smiled lightly. "The professor asked, but it wasn't serious."
But then the scene replayed in his mind—the girl chuckling boldly, her voice clear and unbothered, catching his attention without trying.
He cleared his throat and set the thought aside.
Focus. That was what mattered.
Grades.
Work.
Money.
Not some girl with bright eyes and a smirk that made him momentarily forget the weight he carried.
He pulled out his notebook and opened it to a blank page. "I need to prepare for tomorrow. I'll tutor if anyone calls."
Samuel glanced at him. "You're always working."
James didn't look up. "I have to."
A beat of silence passed—respectful, understanding.
He continued writing, trying to drown the lingering image of her face in ink and equations.
But even he knew it wasn't working.