Mila Wilson is quiet, anxious and a little bit of a mess. Panic attacks have ruled her life for as long as she can remember - but starting college is her chance to take control. Love? Not something she believes she's built for.
Then she meets Jace E...
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I wake up at eight, later than usual for me. I've always been an early bird - there's something peaceful about being awake before the world stirs. But after yesterday's chaos, I forgot to set an alarm, and honestly, I'm grateful I didn't oversleep.
My heart kicks up a frantic rhythm when I remember that I'm meeting Jace at the café in less than an hour. I sit up straight, trying to stay calm.
It's Saturday. Classes start Monday. My original plan for today was simple: explore campus, map out my seminar rooms, figure out where everything is so I won't be scrambling last minute. It's the kind of preparation that soothes me - knowing I've got the logistics handled. I tell myself I can still stick to the plan, just... after I meet Jace.
Outside, fall's creeping in with cool air, so I pull on my light blue straight jeans, a white sweater, and white adidas. Nothing fancy.
If I had to describe my style, I'd probably say "average." I don't spend too much energy on fashion. Maybe that's why I never fit into the popular girl groups back in high school. I had friends, sure, but they'd make plans without me - laugh about it at lunch while I sat right there, not even bothered that I can hear them. Deep down I know it wasn't the clothes. It was the panic disorder. I complicated things. I hate admitting that. The thought makes a familiar flicker of anger rise.
I grab my phone, my red vintage purse, my keys, and step out. It's quiet - eerily peaceful. Everyone must be sleeping off last night's drinking, or whatever else. No loud voices, no clattering footsteps. Just stillness. I love it.
At 08:54, I arrive at the little campus café. It's tucked in the center, impossible to miss. I hesitate at the door, smoothing my hair for no reason I can fully justify. Then I step inside. The place is nearly empty. I glance around, half-wondering if they're even open yet.
"You came." The voice - low, rough, familiar - draws my head to the right.
There he is. Jace. Sitting in a corner booth, a dark gray laptop open in front of him, his eyes lifted from the screen.
"Like you said," I reply quietly, nerves wrapping around my words. "Didn't really have much of a choice."
He smirks, snapping his laptop shut and slipping it into his bag. "Come sit."
I hesitate a beat, then walk toward him, trying not to overthink every step. Up close, he looks softer than yesterday. The off-white sweater, the perfect fit of his black jeans - neither too tight nor too loose. The way he stands as I approach. Little details that shouldn't make my stomach flutter, but somehow do.
"What do you want to drink?" he asks, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
"Oh - you don't have to," I protest, half-turning toward the counter. "I'll go grab it."
"No, I got you." His hand brushes my lower back as he steps past me, lingering just long enough to send a shiver up my spine.
I swallow, flustered. "Decaf vanilla latte... oat milk, please."
