Early morning still clung to the air—cold, damp, and a little too honest.
Andra wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. His breath puffed out in uneven wisps, dissolving into the faint fog hovering over the campus track. He had finished three laps earlier, nearly died in the process, rested, and now—
"…Let's do one more," he muttered to himself, despite every cell in his body screaming absolutely not.
He jogged anyway.
His steps were heavy at first, then slowly found rhythm. Or at least something he could pretend was rhythm. His mind wandered, as it always did when he ran, but today felt… lighter.
Barely.
He had slept terribly last night again, but for once not because of painful thoughts—just the usual restlessness, the usual "what am I doing with my life" echo looping in the background. Still annoying, but at least predictable.
The sky above him was pale blue, smeared gently with streaks of white. The campus felt half-asleep; even the birds sounded like they were yawning.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Then—
—a silhouette appeared ahead of him.
A familiar one.
Andra blinked hard.
"…No way," he whispered under his breath.
She jogged with steady, confident strides—light, effortless, as if the track itself was supporting her feet. Her long dark-brown hair bounced slightly with every step, curled delicately at the ends as if styled by the morning wind rather than a salon. The hoodie she wore was oversized, yet somehow managed to make her look like she'd just stepped out of a sportswear photoshoot.
Oh come on, Andra groaned internally.
What kind of person looks like that at six in the morning? I look like a damp towel.
Even worse—
Why is she here? Why, universe? Why?
He slowed just a little, instinctively keeping distance.
He didn't want a conversation.
He was still embarrassed. Not because of anything he did, but because of everything he thought over the past few days. The universe did not need to witness him being an emotional mess.
So he kept jogging.
Maintaining distance.
Pretending he didn't see her.
And for a moment, it worked.
Her silhouette stayed ahead, then gradually faded around a bend in the path. She was fast. Ridiculously fast, actually.
Andra frowned.
"…How is she that quick?" he muttered while catching his breath. "Is she secretly a track athlete? A ninja? A shapeshifting wind spirit?"
His legs were burning again. His chest tightened.
He slowed to a walk.
Then jogged again.
Then slowed again because he felt dizzy.
This is pathetic, he sighed inside his own head, but I'm doing this for my health. This is good. This is improvement. This is—
Soft footsteps grew louder behind him.
Swift.
Sure.
He didn't need to turn around to know.
…She's behind me.
Before he could react—
WHOOSH.
Nafisa passed him.
Effortlessly.
Gracefully.
Not even out of breath.
Her eyes briefly met his—just a sideways glance, curious and nonchalant. A polite acknowledgment between strangers sharing the same morning routine.
Yet for Andra—
It felt like getting hit by a truck of embarrassment.
His face heated up.
He almost stumbled.
Why am I nervous? WHY AM I NERVOUS? She didn't even say anything! She just looked! People look at people! Calm down, you idiot—
He forced himself to look straight ahead, pretending he didn't almost trip on air.
She ran ahead, disappearing into the distance once more.
He exhaled shakily.
"…Okay," he whispered. "That's enough jogging. I value my life."
He turned around and walked toward the boarding house, heart beating a little faster than necessary—definitely because of the running, and absolutely not because of a girl with hazel eyes who ran like the laws of gravity adored her.
Right.
Totally because of running.
---
A hot shower didn't calm him.
Breakfast didn't calm him.
Even sitting at his desk with his textbook open didn't calm him.
He should've been studying. He had classes later that morning. But all he could think about was—
She passed me. She ran past me. She made it look easy. Am I that unfit? Of course I am. But that's not the point. The point is—why am I thinking about this?!
He shook his head violently, flipping a page even though he hadn't read the previous one.
He tried to distract himself with management theories, historical analysis, even a few journal articles he didn't need to read yet.
Nothing worked.
Because the memory replayed itself on loop:
Nafisa's pace.
Her hair.
Her glance.
Just one glance.
And it was enough to screw up his entire morning.
He groaned loudly and buried his face in his arms.
"This is stupid."
And somehow—
He kept running in the mornings.
Every day.
Without fail.
It shocked even him.
He used to hate running. He hated sweating. He hated the feeling of oxygen abandoning him like a debt collector disappearing after payday.
But now?
He woke up before sunrise.
Stretched lightly.
Jogged around campus.
Burned his lungs.
Repeated.
Without missing a day.
He told himself it was for his health.
He told himself it was to improve stamina.
He told himself it was about discipline.
Andra was a very convincing liar.
Because deep down—in the tiny corner of his heart he refused to acknowledge—
There was another reason.
A reason shaped like a girl with hazel eyes, sneakers, and a hoodie too big for her.
He denied it every time.
I'm NOT running to see her.
Absolutely not.
That's ridiculous.
Coincidence. Coincidence. Coincidence!
But every morning, when he saw her ahead of him—
when she passed him—
when she didn't say anything—
when he pretended not to care—
a warmth bloomed in his chest he didn't understand.
Or maybe he understood too well.
And refused to admit it.
Not yet.
Until one particular morning. It was colder than usual.
The sky was pale, like it hadn't fully woken up. The wind was soft but insistent, brushing against Andra's cheeks as he jogged, already tired after his second lap.
Then—
He saw her.
Same hoodie.
Same sneakers.
Same effortless pace.
He braced himself for the usual routine:
She jogs past him.
She gives a small glance.
He pretends he didn't freeze internally.
She disappears.
He returns home questioning his sanity.
But today—
Something was different.
She slowed down.
Then stopped.
Right in front of him.
And turned around.
Andra skidded to an awkward halt, almost slipping because he hadn't expected this plot twist.
Nafisa looked at him with a bright expression, hands on her hips, cheeks flushed from exercise.
Then she smiled.
A small, curious smile.
"Hey," she said.
Her voice was light, warm—even at six in the morning.
"What's your name?"
Andra froze.
Absolutely froze. His soul left his body.