14 DAYS OF VALENTINE'S

I thought my hatred for Mondays were just reserved for high school, but unfortunately, they were also a thing in campus. They were never easy, but this one felt like an Olympic-level challenge.

Standing in front of the mirror, I reached my hand to smooth down my shirt like it held the key to my confidence. "Okay," I muttered, inhaling deeply. "You've got this. It's just a regular day. Totally normal. No big deal."

Except it was a big deal.

After days of self-imposed hibernation, stepping outside felt like braving the wilderness. And lurking in that wilderness? The guy next door, who had somehow turned me into a living Tom and Jerry episode; except I was Jerry, and the thing chasing me wasn't Tom, but my own relentless embarrassment.

The mere thought of bumping into him made my stomach flip and my heart kicked a gear, considering our disastrous first encounter. I was constantly caught on a loop where I was desperate to see him again while also hoping fate keeps us on opposite sides of the planet.

I had tried to distract myself with some aggressive house cleaning, but scrubbing countertops did little to scrub him from my thoughts. All I could think all this weekend was: Was he home? Was he out? Was he thinking about me like I was thinking of him? Did he find me weird? Ugh. I would find me weird.

My friends had already staged an intervention, rolling their eyes at my avoidance tactics. "You live in the same building. Sooner or later, you're going to run into him." was what they said, when they noticed me trying to marry the house.

They weren't wrong. There was no escaping running into each other.

I released a deep sigh as I gave myself one final once-over in the mirror. No more hiding. No more unnecessary panic. It was time to woman up and face the world.

I was dressed in a black off-shoulder jacket with gleaming gold buttons and high-waisted, knee-ripped jeans. My smooth, warm brown complexion complemented the dark tones of my outfit, while my delicate features—full lips, high cheekbones, and well-defined eyebrows—gave me a soft yet striking look. My almond-shaped eyes, framed by round, thin-framed glasses, making me look just the right amount of mysterious and intellectual (or so I hoped).

My long, dark brown braids cascaded down my shoulders, neatly styled with intricate edges framing my forehead. I had taken my time perfecting them, because details mattered to me.

Grabbing my sleek black CoolBELL convertible backpack, I packed my silver laptop—a gift from Carrie—and a well-worn notebook, ready for another day of scribbled notes, insightful thoughts, and probably a few absentminded doodles in the margins.

The moment I stepped out of the house, I was welcomed by the chirping birds and the caress of a gentle breeze; a reminder why we chose this neighborhood. It was located far from the chaos of the city, beautiful lawns and gardens with vibrant blooms, painting a serene landscape.

My steps slowed on the beautiful cobblestone path as I approached the front of the new neighbor's house. Out of curiosity—or maybe, if I'm being honest, a part of me was hoping to catch a glimpse of him. At the same time, I was also hoping he wouldn't be there. The moment I saw the empty porch; I wasn't sure if I felt relieved… or disappointed.

"Great," I thought to myself. Might as well walk with my head held high—

"Morning, beautiful." I yelped, whirling around in surprise when a deep voice sounded from behind me. My heart almost leapt out of my heart when I came face to face with him.

His twinkling eyes was the first thing I noticed. Letting my eyes wonder a little, I notice that he was returning from a morning run. He was dressed in a forest green tank top clinging to his toned frame, showing off biceps that flexed with the slightest movement. His gray shorts, ending just above the knee, revealed strong runner's calves, sculpted from who-knew-how-many miles.

Earphones hung loosely around his neck, as if he had just yanked them out. A light sheen of sweat dusted his brow, only making him look more effortlessly rugged. For a moment, I could do nothing but stare.

"I'm sorry if I startled you. That wasn't my intention," Nick's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping my attention back to his face. I felt my cheeks warming up at how he must have caught me ogling him again. His face didn't look sorry for startling me though. If anything, he looked amused by the presence of that smirk on his lips.

"Um..It's...it's okay," I managed, though my voice came out softer than I intended. "Oh, so she speaks,." he drawled eliciting a nervous laugh from me. Dang it. Was i fool to hope that he forgot a about the other day?

"Mandy," I said trying to regain my cook. The last thing I wanted was him to continue calling me beautiful just to tease me. "My name is Mandy," I repeated, when his perfectly arched brows lifted slightly, as if amused.

"Well, good morning, Mandy," he said smoothly. "Though I still think beautiful suits you better." His words were simple, yet it curled around me like a warm breeze, and before I could stop it, a telltale blush crept up my cheeks.

Was that a simple compliment, or was he flirting?

I wasn't sure, but the playful glint in his eyes made me more than a little curious.

"I... I should get going to school. Can't afford to get on my professor's bad side. My grades depend on him, after all." I wanted out of here as much as I wanted to stay. Was I making sense? 

Nick's low, husky chuckle, cut through the morning and settled into the air around us. It did something to me. Something that made my stomach do an embarrassingly ridiculous little flip.

"What's your major?" he asked out of the blue, his gaze lingering just long enough to make my brain short-circuit for a second.

"Oh! Uh, Mass Communication," I said, a little too quickly. "With a focus on television and film production."

"A dreamer, then?" he mused, his lips quirking into something like a smirk.

"You could say that." I perked up. "But I am also, a doer. I'm all about media, less about journalism, though."

His raised eyebrow made me realize I had, yet again, thrown out a sentence that was entirely unnecessary.

"Not that journalism isn't great or anything! It's just not for me. I'm more of a book person. You know, reading, writing, watching movies. I've always been fascinated by how things come together behind the scenes, the creative process, the power of visual storytelling. Not that I've, um, actually done much of it yet, but I plan to! Hopefully. Assuming I don't embarrass myself into oblivion first…" I trailed off, heat creeping up my neck as I realized what I was doing

 "Oh, I'm rambling. I swear I don't usually talk this much. It's just… you asked. And you're, um—" Oh my goodness, do NOT say anything.'"—I really should stop talking."

I bit my lip, cringing internally.

Nick's smirk deepened, like he'd caught every single one of my stumbles and found them amusing. "It's refreshing," he said, eyes twinkling. "You've got a lot of passion for what you love. It's cute."

Oh. I wasn't expecting that. Flustered, I tried to look anywhere but at him. This is what happened whenever I was nervous. I just find myself saying more than necessary much to my chagrin.

"About yesterday," I began, eager to clear the air, "I apologize for the less-than-ideal 'welcome to the neighborhood.' My friends, well, they have their own way of doing things."

"Don't worry about it. I found it quite..." he trailed as if looking for a befitting word, " ...entertaining," Yeah, entertain indeed. I was clown in his eyes.

"I'd like to make it up to you. I'll do anything you ask," I offered impulsively.

"Anything?" he echoed, his gaze deepening, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Yes, anything," I affirmed, quickly adding, "as long as it's legal and noble," which drew a soft laugh from him.

"And what does 'legal and noble' mean in your dictionary?" he probed, a playful note in his voice.

"I could show you around," I suggested, my hands now fidgeting on the straps of my bag. "You're new here, and it's always good to know where you're living," I explained, my breath catching slightly with nerves.

I watched him with battered breath as he considered my offer, then agreed with a smile that lit up his features, "A tour guide sounds perfect."

"More like a companion," I corrected, " since there's no charge," I added, eliciting a light-hearted laugh from him. His laughter sounded like a cello I could listen all day.

"See you later then, pretty one," he called out, before moving past me, resuming his jog before I could respond. I was left standing there, my cheeks aflame at the echoes of his endearment lingering in the air. Something I never felt on Mondays started to bloom deep inside me.