Chasing Her || FreenBecky [Completed]

Chapter 21

"Nam, where are my papers? I need to review the project proposals from the sub-organizations today," I said, scanning through the folders scattered on my desk.

"I already passed them to the president this morning. Didn't you reject them all? I noticed comments on each proposal," Nam replied, furrowing her brows.

"I haven't reviewed any of them," I exclaimed. "And what do you mean by comments?"

"I took care of it," Billy announced as he walked into the office. "I knew you were exhausted yesterday, so I finished up for you."

Nam excused herself, leaving Billy and me alone to chat. I rolled my eyes at him and took a seat as he perched on my desk. Why did they always sit there? There was a perfectly good chair right across from me.

"So, care to spill about yesterday?" he inquired. "I swung by Becky's place, and she seemed fine. Are you two an item now or something?"

"Hell, no," I scoffed. "Why are you always prying, Billy? I'm not in the mood to discuss it. And entering a relationship isn't my priority right now, as I've told you."

"I'm just concerned as your friend and Becky's cousin. Do you know how much she's into you? And did you know your brother has a thing for her too?" Billy dropped a bombshell that caught me off guard.

"My brother? Mile likes her? But I saw them at the bar together last time," I remarked, rising from my seat and grabbing my vest.

"It's Bright," Billy clarified. "After the game, he was worried sick about you and Becky. He even wanted to stick around, but his coach wouldn't allow it. So he called Mew to come pick you two up."

"Bright didn't ask Mew to pick me up; instead, he was concerned about Becky?" I mused aloud. Well, Bright knew it was my hometown. He wouldn't worry about me. "He doesn't like her. He's angry with her, Billy. He even tried to keep me away from her."

"That was before, Freen. Before he got to know Becky," Billy reasoned, ushering me outside.

Becky and Bright were engrossed in conversation on a nearby bench, laughing together. Becky's eyes sparkled with genuine joy, but the way Bright looked at her was different. There was an intensity in his gaze that I couldn't quite decipher. Damn it, not my brother.

"If you're not into her, then talk to your brother. He's hesitant to confess his feelings for Becky because he thinks you're interested," Billy advised, patting my shoulder. "Don't be selfish, Freen. If Becky's not your type, then let her find someone who truly cares for her."

"I don't care. Let them date if they want. I'd be happy for them," I said, though inwardly, I wasn't. Seeing her happy with Bright tore at my heart. I thought only I could fill that void in her life. How could she laugh with him? How could she enjoy his company?

***

I threw myself into studying, trying to push thoughts of Becky and Bright out of my mind. I should be glad my brother wasn't as indifferent to girls as he used to be. And Becky wouldn't be a constant annoyance anymore. Yet, I couldn't shake off this anger towards them. Was it because Bright warned me to stay away from Becky, yet he seemed drawn to her himself? And Becky claimed nobody made her as happy as I did, yet here she was, laughing with Bright. Were they playing games with me?

"Ms. Chankimha, are you even listening?" the professor interrupted my thoughts. "As a writer, do you believe you have your own style?"

"Yes," I responded. "Every writer has a unique approach. As Neil Gaiman said, we shouldn't try to develop a style; style is what naturally emerges."

"You're bright, Ms. Chankimha, but I sense you're not fully engaged. As a consequence, I'd like you to write a poem about the first person who comes to mind. The theme doesn't matter. You have five minutes," the professor instructed, her tone firm.

I penned a poem based on my current thoughts and handed it to her. She scrutinized it with furrowed brows before sighing.

"Are you distracted by jealousy?" she queried, rereading the poem. "Even if you don't explicitly mention it, I'm certain jealousy is the underlying emotion here."

My classmates whispered amongst themselves, and I shifted uncomfortably. "No, ma'am. I'm just crafting a story in my mind," I fibbed. Another lie.

"The writer's style, like a sharp knife's edge,
Cuts deep wounds, leaves me on edge.
Crafty words, with a twist so sly,
Stir up envy, make me sigh.

Envy grows with each line they write,
Leaving me wounded, without respite.
Their words pierce deep, a hurtful art,
Leaving scars of longing on my heart," she recited. "If this isn't about jealousy, then I'd like to understand the meaning behind it. Meet me in my office."

I lowered my head and nodded. I followed her to her office, my last class of the day, so I wasn't concerned about taking up too much time.

"Have a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, ma'am. Really," I replied.

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "Anyway, I didn't call you here to reprimand you. I have something to offer you after reading your poem." My professor retrieved a folder from her desk drawer and handed it to me.

"What's this, ma'am?" I asked, scanning its contents.

"It's an invitation from another institution. They're seeking a representative from our school for their contests. I've asked several students, but none were interested," she explained.

I glanced at the logo on the invitation and my eyes widened as I recognized the name: Concordia Intellectualis University. It was the most prestigious university in the country. I couldn't possibly participate.

"But, ma'am..." I began, looking up at her.

"Freen, I know you're apprehensive because you believe they're more talented than you. But please, why not give it a try? No pressure. I'm not expecting you to win. I just want you to take part," she encouraged, smiling warmly.

I examined the papers again, noting that at least two participants were required for the contest.

"Could you ask Billy to join as well?" I requested.

"Billy? I've already approached someone else," she replied, glancing towards the door. "She's here. Come in, Becky."

I turned to see Becky Armstrong enter the room. The subject of my poem just moments ago.