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I watched Brad as he devoured his scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast. The morning sunlight slanted in from the cafeteria windows, creating a warm glow that lit his face from one side. I found myself staring, not because of his looks but because of the worry etched into his handsome features.
"The thing is," he started, putting down his fork for a moment, "Dylan can't always be there for you. And... well, his interest in Jenna is obvious."
He had a point. Dylan, our newfound guardian angel, had made it clear that his heart had found a new interest—my roommate, Jenna. His attention could be divided in a crucial moment, and that thought scared me more than I'd like to admit.
"I know," I replied, pushing around a slice of apple on my plate, "I get it, Brad. You don't have to convince me. Let's try not to think about it for a little while, okay? We have enough on our plates."
Brad studied me for a moment before nodding, accepting my attempt to shift our conversation away from the dangers lurking in the shadows. He took my hand across the table, his thumb running soothing circles on my knuckles. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to savor the comfort in his touch, the familiarity of his presence.
As we parted ways, I couldn't help but carry his concerns with me into my design class. My favorite class, where I usually lost myself in line, form, and color principles, was not the same that day. Despite my best efforts, my focus strayed, floating in a sea of uncertainties.
Professor Kline, a middle-aged man with an unending passion for design, was saying something about the evolution of digital art. I heard bits and pieces of his words, punctuated by the heater's droning hum and the occasional paper shuffling.
"…with the emergence of AI, the line between human and machine creativity blurs…."
Then a whirl of colors filled the lecture hall as Professor Kline pulled up today's design lecture slides. But my focus was elsewhere. The half-eaten Danish from the Campus Common lay forgotten next to my sketchbook, its icing starting to crust. Brad's words echoed in my mind, his worry about my safety managing to overshadow my anticipation for the class I used to love.
"Remember, creativity is nothing without context," Kline's voice filtered through my thoughts. I looked up, catching a glimpse of a bright Bauhaus design on the projection screen before my gaze drifted to the notes app open on my phone. Nanc's work schedule stared back at me, a stark reminder of the issues that waited beyond this lecture hall.
My pencil hovered over the sketchbook, the tip grazing the creamy paper. Instead of the clean lines and geometric patterns we discussed, all I could see were potential threats hiding behind every corner of the lecture hall. A chill ran down my spine, not entirely due to the icy draft seeping through the old windows.
I tried to refocus to let the professor's discussion on the influences of modern design sink in. Snippets of his lecture drifted in and out of my consciousness, the theories, and philosophies intertwining with the fear Brad had voiced earlier.
As the class continued, the weight of my plight seemed to grow heavier, drawing me further away from the world of design and deeper into the world of subterfuge that had become my life.
Emerging from the cocoon of my afternoon math class, the icy wind greeted me again as though it had been patiently waiting all day. The small classroom was already a distant memory, replaced by the reality of the sprawling campus around me, windswept and bathed in the fading light of the afternoon.
"There you are!" The familiar voice was a beacon of hope, and I squinted to see Brad hustling over, his breath pluming with every step.
I offered him a faint smile. "Hey," I greeted, tugging at the ends of my scarf.
"How was class?" he asked, concern flickering in his gaze.
"It was…" I paused, words failing to capture the state of my distracted mind. "Okay. Just okay."
Brad seemed to understand, his expression softening as he threw an arm around my shoulders. "Let's get you warmed up. The dorm isn't too far."
As we neared the main entrance, a misplaced detail caught my eye—a FedEx delivery left carelessly at the doorstep. "Hold on," I broke away from Brad, curiously approaching the package.
"Brought to you by your favorite boyfriend," Brad chimed in, an amused glint in his eyes. The playful admission caught me off-guard as I crouched to inspect the parcel.
My name was scrawled across the package in messy handwriting, triggering a faint recollection that I couldn't place.
“I wonder what this is?” I inquired, lifting the box and standing back up.
Brad met my gaze with a hint of mischief. "That," he said, "is something you'll have to find out for yourself."
Inside the dorm, I deposited my bag and winter layers on a nearby chair, cradling the FedEx box in my hands with growing curiosity. The dormitory was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the icy chill outside, and the welcoming familiarity allowed a momentary reprieve from my anxieties.
"Are you going to open it or just stare at it all day?" Brad's voice jolted me from my thoughts, a playful grin playing on his lips.
"Well, I'm trying to guess what's inside," I retorted, placing the box on the small coffee table and taking a seat on the couch, Brad following suit.
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he leaned back, watching me intently. "Go on then. Open it!"
A moment's hesitation gave way to curiosity as I carefully peeled away the packaging tape. Opening the box, I found a familiar object nestled inside – the flip phone Brad had sent from San Diego last week. An amused chuckle escaped my lips, and I glanced over at him, my cheeks heating up in mild embarrassment.
"I can't believe I didn't realize what it was," I muttered, holding up the phone. "I mean, I had to send that crazy Signal message to you because it hadn't come yet. I'm getting so forgetful."
