THE DATE

*Chapter Two*

I woke up the next morning with a head full of thoughts but determined to focus on school. Nursing classes were no joke, and I needed to keep my grades up. That was my priority, at least until Matthew's text had me wondering if fate was playing some kind of game.

The day passed like any other — early morning lectures, scribbling notes feverishly, caffeine-fueled study sessions — all the usual chaos of first year at university. But later in the afternoon, I met up with Victor and his friends, David and John, for some much-needed distraction.

Victor was the one who'd introduced me to most of his circle. David was the jokester, always quick with a tease or a sarcastic comment. John was quieter, but his sharp wit cut through conversations when he chose to speak. I liked them both — they made the pressure of school feel a little lighter.

We were sitting on the worn-out couches in Victor's common room, the faded curtains struggling to keep the harsh sunlight at bay. The small TV was playing some random music video, but we barely noticed it, caught up instead in the kind of banter that only happens when friends have been through a lot together.

David nudged me, smirking. "So, Catherine, any new love stories? Or is your love life still as non-existent as ever?"

I rolled my eyes but laughed. "You mean my legendary non-existent love life? Yeah, still holding strong. No stories to tell."

John chuckled, "Come on, you must have some drama. Don't keep us hanging."

I shrugged, "Honestly? Nothing. Just classes, assignments, and an occasional text from some guy I barely know."

David raised an eyebrow. "Ouch. Barely know? Sounds like you're playing it safe."

I shrugged again, "Or maybe I'm just not desperate enough to settle for less."

John nodded thoughtfully, "Fair point. But sometimes, the unexpected happens. Remember when Matthew asked if you were Victor's girlfriend? That was some smooth move."

I groaned playfully. "Yeah, smooth until he vanished into thin air. We texted a bit that night, then... nothing. I'm starting to think maybe it was all in my head."

Victor, who'd been quietly listening from the armchair, finally spoke up with a quiet nod. That was unusual for him — he almost always had something to say. "Sometimes, people aren't who they seem. Just be careful."

I looked at him, half amused, half annoyed. "Careful, huh? Thanks, Victor. I'm not a kid."

He gave me a sideways grin. "I know. But I've known Matthew longer than you. Trust me, I'm not saying this to scare you. Just... watch your back."

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, Mr. Protective. I get it. But I can handle myself."

That was the end of it, at least for now. We moved on to other things, the teasing and laughter filling the room until it was time to head back to our hostels.

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Later that evening, just as I was settling into the soft quiet of my little hostel room, the familiar buzz of my phone pulled me out of my thoughts. I was curled up on the edge of my bed, legs tucked beneath me, half-listening to some lo-fi playlist humming through my speaker. I reached for the phone without thinking, expecting a message from Victor or maybe Sarah. But the name that lit up my screen made me sit up straighter.

*Matthew.*

I stared at the screen for a moment, unsure how to feel. There was that small jolt in my chest—the kind that came when someone you didn't expect suddenly crosses your path again. My thumb hovered over the message icon, debating if I should open it immediately or pretend to be unbothered. But who was I kidding?

*"Hey."* The message was simple. Just that. 

And still, it stirred something in me.

I hesitated before typing back. *"Hey, I didn't expect to hear from you."*

A part of me felt smug about keeping it short, neutral. The other part—the one that had been checking her phone way too often the past week—was already bracing for his reply.

It came fast. *"I know, I've been a terrible ghost lately. Sorry about that. I was caught up with a million things. Promise I'm not a bad texter—I just... needed to find the right words."*

I read it twice, a smile slowly tugging at my lips. He wasn't brushing it off. He was actually trying.

*"It's okay,"* I typed, curling my fingers around the phone. *"I've been busy too. So I get it."*

There was a pause. A long enough one that I started to wonder if that was the end of the conversation. But then, another message popped up.

*"Still, I owe you a laugh or two. Let me make it up to you. How about a proper date this week? Just us. If you're less busy, that is."*

I laughed, soft and involuntary. His tone was still the same—calm, playful, careful. He was treading lightly, and for some reason, that made me want to trust him a little more.

I stared at the screen, thinking about it longer than necessary. My instinct was to play it cool.

*"I'll let you know when I'm free,"* I replied finally.

There was a small beat, then: 

*"Sounds good. I'll be waiting."*

No pressure. No over-explaining. Just that.

I set the phone down and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling for a moment. The room around me was dim, lit only by the soft glow of my desk lamp. The walls were still bare—I'd never really bothered to decorate. It wasn't the kind of space that invited you to stay long. But tonight, it felt different. A little less lonely. A little more alive.

I grabbed my pillow and hugged it to my chest, trying to calm the rush of warmth in my chest. I didn't know what this meant or where it would go, but it felt... good. Unexpected, but good.

And for the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I was just going through the motions.

The next afternoon, I walked into Victor's room with the kind of energy you only have when your heart's doing somersaults and your brain is screaming, *You need to tell someone now.*

The door creaked open, and familiar scents hit me—faint notes of cologne, instant noodles, and the lingering musk of too many boyhood conversations. Victor's room was exactly how it always was—casual chaos with clothes flung over the back of his chair, textbooks stacked unevenly on the desk, and his sneakers half tucked under the bed.

Victor sat hunched over his laptop, earphones in, eyes glued to the screen, mouthing along to something I couldn't hear. Probably another video essay or an Afrobeats playlist on repeat. The only light in the room was the soft blue glow from the screen, casting faint shadows on his wall.

I didn't wait for him to notice me.

"I'm not saying you should be excited," I said, dropping my bag onto his bed with the flair of someone about to announce a scandal, "but this moment might just restore your faith in romantic drama."

Victor pulled one earbud out with a raised brow. "That sounds dangerously like a setup."

I couldn't help the grin tugging at my lips. "Matthew asked me out."

That got his attention.

He blinked once, eyebrows twitching the slightest bit. "Really."

"Really," I confirmed, unable to keep the giddy undertone from slipping into my voice. "Texted me last night out of nowhere. Said he's been thinking about me. Asked if I'd want to go on a proper date."

Victor leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh. His expression wasn't skeptical exactly—just unreadable, which somehow felt worse.

"And what did you say?"

I shrugged, trying to sound breezy even though my insides were still fluttering. "I said I'd check my schedule. But basically yes."

His jaw tightened just slightly. No reaction. No teasing. No eyebrow waggle. Just… stillness.

"Okay," he said finally. "If that's what you want."

I tilted my head. "Why do you sound like you're preparing for a storm?"

He exhaled slowly, stood up, and took a few paces around the room like the words were too restless to sit with him.

"Catherine… I'm not trying to rain on your excitement," he began, his tone calm but steady. "But I need you to be a little careful."

My smile wavered. "Why?"

Victor glanced at me, then away. His fingers raked through his short curls, a gesture he always made when he was working through something difficult.

"I've known Matthew for a while. We've hung out. Shared some stories. He's not a bad guy, I swear. But he's… smooth. Really smooth. The kind of guy who knows exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to make you feel like the center of gravity in a crowded room."

I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, heart settling with an uncomfortable thud. "So you think he's playing me?"

Victor stopped pacing. "I think he likes the feeling of connection. I think he's good at creating it. I just… I don't know if he always knows what to do when things get real. Or when the stakes stop being about the chase and start being about commitment."

The words settled into the room like smoke, curling around the silence between us. I looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers, feeling the warmth drain just a little.

Victor moved closer and leaned against the desk. "Look, I'm not saying don't go. Or don't see where this could lead. Just… don't let charm blind you. You're a good person, Catherine. Smart. Grounded. You deserve someone who means what they say, not just someone who knows how to say it."

I nodded slowly, voice softer now. "I hear you."

He gave a faint, tight smile. "I just… I don't want to watch you get hurt. Especially not by someone who doesn't even realize he's capable of doing it."

My throat tightened, but I smiled back at him gently. "I know. And I appreciate it. I'll keep my eyes open. Promise."

Victor studied me for a moment longer, like he wanted to say more but didn't know how to shape the words without crossing a line. Instead, he reached for a packet of biscuits sitting half-open on his desk and tossed them toward me.

"Last one," he said. "Take it. I'm trying to cut down on sugar anyway."

I caught it with a smirk. "Sure you are."

He rolled his eyes and pushed his earphones back in, returning to whatever he was watching. But the tension lingered. Not angry or resentful—just… unresolved. Like a chord that hadn't quite found its harmony.

And this time, I didn't ignore it. I tucked it somewhere in the back of my mind, beside the flutter of Matthew's text and the weight of Victor's warning.

Because something had started. And it was only the beginning.

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