Unexpected Brews

Zuri Kendi's campus survival guide boiled down to three rules:

1. If your favorite book is his favorite? Abort mission. Or marry him. There is no in-between.

2. If he's beautiful and quiet, run. Or stare. Then run.

3. If it feels like fate, it's probably just hormones. Run.

They'd worked—until tonight, when restlessness crept under her skin and her thoughts tangled too tightly to unravel.

The familiar weight of law school anxiety pressed into her chest, steady and dull, like a bruise she kept forgetting was there until she moved.

She needed a reset. Something bitter to ground her. The kind of coffee that punched instead of soothed. Strong, sharp, and worth leaving the dorm for.

She reached the campus café—and stopped short. The noise hit first. Voices layered over laughter, the clatter of chairs, and those half-familiar faces she'd never quite clicked with. 

She needed air. Quiet. Focus.

So she walked.

She didn't wasn't read to wander far, but she had no choice. A few blocks later, she spotted a narrow place tucked into a quieter street. Warm lights spilled through the windows. It looked calm. Unfamiliar. Perfect.

When she got closer it was packed too.

She paused at the door, caught between craving and dread. Voices overlapped. Mugs clinked. Chairs scraped tile. She nearly turned around but the smell of espresso pulled her in.

She needed a place to vanish—somewhere quiet, out of the buzz.

Her gaze slid over the room until it landed on him.

A man in the corner, wrapped in shadow and the smell of coffee steam. His sleeves were rolled up, fingers gently skimming the pages of a book like it was a living thing.

Her breath caught somewhere deep inside.

That feeling—part nerves, part something else. She looked away quickly, but curiosity dragged her eyes back.

The book? The Art of War.

Her favorite.

A shiver. Was this chance—or something more?

Her rules itched at the back of her mind but she didn't run.

Instead, she took one slow step forward. Then another.

She paused beside his table, heartbeat loud in her ears. Cleared her throat.

"Is that… Sun Tzu?"

He looked up.

Eyes dark and unreadable—but alert. Present. There was a flicker in them, brief but unmistakable.

"Yeah," he said, voice low and even. "Didn't think anyone would notice."

She smiled, small but confident. "Most girls don't ask about military strategy."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

"Not many do these days." He paused, watching her. "You a fan?"

She clutched her bag tighter, trying not to fidget. "Read it when I was sixteen. The part about knowing your enemy? Gold."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Should I be worried?"

She laughed—softer than she meant to, the sound more vulnerable than clever. "Only if you give me a reason."

Something shifted in his expression. Not a smile, not fully. But the corners of his mouth hinted at it. Intrigued, but not eager. Amused, but contained.

She hesitated.

Then: "Mind if I sit?"

He didn't answer right away. Just watched her for a beat longer than necessary, then gestured to the chair like it had always been hers. "It's a free country."

Zuri eased into the seat like she'd always belonged there. She didn't glance at the menu. Just looked past him to the barista. "Americano. No sugar."

The words were clean, unfussy. Like her.

His brow twitched, mouth curving—not quite a smile, but close. She was two for two now. He liked that.

"No sugar," he said, like he was tasting the words. "Bold."

She met his eyes, cool and steady. "Some things are better bitter."

The smile came then. Quiet. Real. He closed the book with care, thumb lingering on the cover. 

"I'm Maloba."

"Zuri."

He repeated it under his breath, like he was filing it away. "Zuri."

His voice slipped between them, calm and even, but it caught her off guard. Tightened her throat. She looked down, suddenly aware of how still everything felt.

"So… what brings you here?" he asked, tone light, but his gaze never wavered.

She didn't answer right away. The street outside offered a distraction—headlights dragging shadows across the windowpane.

Then quietly, "I'm starting university."

For half a second, surprise shifted in his eyes but vanished quickly.

He sipped his coffee, buying time. "What course?"

"Law," she said, casually—but something about the way his gaze lingered made her sit up a little straighter.

He nodded, slow and sure. "That's a tough one."

She shrugged lightly. "I like a challenge."

His lips curved—not quite a smile, more an acknowledgment. "I can tell."

She tilted her head, studying him with a quiet interest. There was a stillness in the way he carried himself, a calm confidence that didn't demand attention but held it anyway. Something about him made her want to keep looking, to learn what stories he wasn't telling.

"What about you?" she asked. "What do you do?"

He looked at her for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, with a small, easy smile:

"Let's just enjoy our coffee."

Smooth. Measured. Intentionally vague.

It should've annoyed her—but instead, it pulled at her attention like a thread waiting to be followed.

There was something about him. 

They spoke softly about books, the rain tapping on the windows, coffee—the small things that felt steady in the dark. His joke about cheesy '90s movies made her smile, and for a moment, the day's weight lifted.

His eyes softened when she smiled. He glanced at his phone but didn't hurry. Neither did she.

After a pause, he stood and stretched. The movement lifted his shirt just enough to reveal a sliver of skin—subtle, catching her attention.

She rose too, a lightness settling in her chest.

"This was… unexpected," she said, steady, calm.

"Good unexpected?"

She met his eyes and nodded gently. "Yeah."

Outside, the night air was cool, carrying the scent of rain and coffee. His fingers brushed hers—barely, almost accidental—enough to spark a quiet tension.

He smiled—soft, sure. "See you around, Zuri."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

Without hesitation, he said, "Oh, you will."