Our Forbidden Love

XIV : Magnetic Force

Cataryna's POV

I crumpled another sheet of paper and tossed it into the bin, watching it miss and land in the corner of the room. I glanced over at my roommate, who was absentmindedly typing away on her phone. Ever since Harriet dropped her off earlier, she'd been a bit off—like she needed a hug. I could tell it was the distance, the kind that seems so small but feels so big, especially when love is involved.

"Oh, come on," I said, breaking the silence. "Fallon told me she'll be back by 10. Pretty sure Harriet's going with her since you miss her so much."

She let out a small chuckle but didn't say anything back. We hadn't talked much today, mostly just buried in our Lit1 reviews. The kind of day where everything felt like a blur, and even though it had only been hours since we parted, it felt like years.

I guess I'm okay with the silence, though. Sometimes, the quiet speaks louder than words ever could, and today, my thoughts were definitely winning the conversation.

The faucet dripped a little, the water flow weak, but I didn't mind. I was only rinsing the pans, not washing them—because let's be honest, that's not happening. Hannah probably knew that already. I tossed the dirty dishes and laundry into their designated piles, then grabbed the mop to clean the bathroom floor. Something about a shiny, spotless floor just felt right.

The vintage carpets I'd been eyeing still hadn't arrived. They sat in my online cart, neglected for now, waiting for me to actually decide when I'd check out.

"I think my girlfriend and yours are hopeless romantics," Hannah said out of nowhere, her voice breaking the stillness.

I glanced over at her, then gave a soft chuckle.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, that statement's an 11."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You speak weirdly. We used to fight with the kids on Roblox, and now here you are, paraphrasing a simple statement I already get."

Our gazes locked for a second before we both burst out laughing.

"Time really does fly, huh?" she said, her voice almost wistful.

I shrugged. "There's no scientific evidence on what time's wings look like. Kinda disappointing, if you ask me."

Hannah flopped onto my bed, making herself comfortable and patting the spot next to her.

"Oh my God, I am not sleeping with my best friend," I said, half-laughing, half-genuine.

"Dream on, I would never," she retorted, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

I dramatically placed my hand over my chest, pretending to collapse in agony like a vampire with a wooden stake through the heart.

"Why would you say it like that?!" I fake-cried, my voice cracking for extra effect.

She threw a pillow at me, then raised her middle finger with a grin. "Shut up," she laughed, making my fake tears turn into real laughter.

Three Weeks Later

Harriet dropped me off at the university entrance, waving as she drove away. There I was, standing at the beginning of my first day, wondering how things would unfold. Would they go smoothly or would I stumble? You never really know until you take the plunge.

The sound of my pointed heels clicking against the cold, marble floor echoed through the empty hallways. It was so painfully loud in the silence, and for some reason, it felt like every step was heavier than the last.

What if I trip? What if I say something stupid? What if I mess up my first presentation? What if the instructor is one of those no-nonsense types who expects perfection? It's college, after all—the last stretch before we dive into the real world. I mean, it's supposed to be nerve-wracking, right?

My thoughts felt like a train on an abandoned track. There were noises—clicks and clatters, things moving, but the track was empty, untraveled. I couldn't stop my mind from racing.

Wait, what was I even doing? Oh, right. I was already standing up in front of the class. My name... my introduction... Oh god.

Be professional, Cat. You can do this.

"I-I'm Cat," I stammered, wincing at how unsure I sounded.

Ugh, what was that?!

I could feel my face turning red as the room fell into an uncomfortable silence. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me, some whispering to each other, probably laughing at how awkward I was.

Then came the voice of the instructor—Mr. Hawkes, I think.

"Miss Michigan, professionally speaking, I'd say your introduction was... well, rather boring. Haven't you read the announcements in the group chat?" His tone was calm, but there was something cutting about it.

I tried to steady myself, but my knees were shaking. I was holding three heavy books—Social Science textbooks, of all things—awkwardly cradled in my arms like they were shields, though they weren't helping.

I imagined myself sitting in the back of the room, watching myself fumble through this moment. So embarrassing.

But you know, maybe it's not embarrassing if I don't think of it that way. Maybe it's just... part of it. Just part of growing up.

Comedians don't feel ashamed when they intentionally embarrass themselves for the sake of a laugh, right? Well, this wasn't exactly comedy, but if they could make people laugh with their mishaps, then maybe I could salvage something from this embarrassing mess.

These people don't even know me yet. They don't know my name, let alone how I usually present myself. No, the only thing they knew about me right now was that my presentation had been bomboclaated—thanks to Mr. Hawkes.

I couldn't just let him get away with it.

"Excuse me, Sir?" I said, my voice firm and clear. He turned his head in surprise. I had his attention now.

"I believe it's a little disrespectful to just cut someone off like that without being upfront about it," I continued, maintaining eye contact.

He looked at me, slightly fazed, and I knew immediately I had him on the defensive.

I decided to keep going. "Do you have anything else to add, or can I finally proceed with my presentation?" My tone was sharp, my words deliberate. "Because it's getting ridiculous now, with you sitting there next to me, criticizing my performance when I haven't even had the chance to tie my shoelaces yet."

As if on cue, my classmates—just like puppets—shifted their eyes down to my shoes, and I could feel their attention shift. There it was, the distraction I needed. They rolled their eyes at the obvious trick, but I didn't care. They were lured in. And just like that, I regained control of the moment.

It wasn't perfect, but it was mine. I could feel the tension in the room shift from awkward to something else—something I could work with. Now, maybe I had a chance to finish what I started.