My Boyfriend Is An Octopus

Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed, the faint hum of her laptop filling the otherwise still room. The Crime Rate Prediction System flickered on the screen, neat lines of code scrolling past as the algorithm completed yet another simulated run. She stared at it, her chin resting heavily on her palm, as Lucy's words circled her mind like a persistent echo.

It could help people.

Could it? That question felt like a thorn lodged in her chest.

She tried to hold onto it, to test its truth, but the idea slipped through her fingers, intangible and unsteady. Her professor had pressed her about this too, hadn't he? Why had she chosen this project? Why this, of all things? Ginny thought back to the presentation, to the sharp disappointment in his tone, and felt the flush of shame creep over her again.

Her eyes flicked to the edge of the desk, to the sticky note taped there in Evie's loopy handwriting: Remember why you started.

Ginny frowned, peeling the note free and holding it between her fingers.

But when she dug through the layers of memory, she came up with nothing solid. Just fragments, faint and fragile, slipping through the cracks. A blurry image came into focus—her mother sitting beside her on the worn-out couch, the television's blue light spilling over the room.

They'd been watching the evening news, the anchor's voice steady but grim as he recounted another wave of rising crime in the city. Her mother had sighed softly, a sound filled with quiet resignation, and murmured to no one in particular: Wouldn't it be something if there were a way to stop this before it even started?

That memory lingered now, clear and sharp as though it had been carved into her thoughts. Isn't that what this project should be? Ginny wondered. Something to help people. Something useful. Wasn't that enough?

But it wasn't for her professor. And maybe, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't for her either. Her fingers itched to reach for her notebook, to scrawl something meaningful in the margins. Instead, she let the sticky note drop to her desk and flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Her dorm was quiet tonight, Evie having vanished hours ago to bury herself in a labyrinth of equations and homework at the library. Ginny imagined her there now, surrounded by half-empty coffee cups and a fortress of books, utterly in her element. Unlike herself.

She groaned softly and pulled out her phone, aimlessly scrolling through her messages. 

The unknown sender's texts stared back at her, innocuous yet unsettling. She knew now it was probably some bored prankster, maybe even a bot. But every now and then, the words felt pointed, as if whoever was on the other end could see through her skin.

Enough of that. Her thumb hovered over the delete button before she pressed it with more force than necessary. One by one, the messages disappeared into the digital void, until her inbox was clean again.

The sudden knock at her door broke the silence, startling her. Ginny froze, the phone still warm in her hand. Who could that be? Evie wouldn't bother knocking; she had her key, and anyway, she wasn't due back until much later. Ginny set the phone aside and rose slowly, her bare feet brushing against the worn carpet as she approached the door.

Peeking through the eyehole, she squinted at the dimly lit corridor beyond. A shadow shifted, indistinct but there. A shiver skated down her spine, though she wasn't sure why. She glanced back at her room, the familiar clutter of books and blankets doing little to soothe the growing unease in her chest.

Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, her mind running through a hundred possibilities in the span of a breath. She swallowed, forced herself to exhale, and cracked the door open just enough to peer out.

"Hello?"

Ginny opened the door to reveal Ollie Sinclair standing there, his grin bright enough to light the dim hallway. Her heart jolted in surprise, and she scowled instinctively, hand tightening on the doorframe. 

"Ollie! You scared me half to death!" she snapped, though her voice carried more exasperation than venom.

He laughed, the sound low and warm, a casual confidence in the way he leaned against the doorframe. 

"Cute," he said simply, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. "Though, seriously, who else were you expecting to knock? The boogeyman?" 

His expression sobered slightly, curiosity flickering in his green eyes.

Ginny rolled her eyes, the scowl softening into something closer to irritation laced with fondness. 

"No," she admitted, her tone clipped as she stepped back a fraction, keeping the door partly closed. "But it's late. You could've texted first, you know."

"I like to keep you on your toes," he replied with a wink, brushing past her question. His gaze flicked past her into the room, landing on Evie's cluttered desk. "Speaking of which, I'm here on a noble mission, courtesy of your beloved roommate."

Ginny arched a brow, crossing her arms. "Evie sent you here? To the girls' dorms?"

"Yep." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic, his nonchalance irritatingly charming. "She's in the library working on that beast of an assignment, but apparently, she left some critical books behind. And since I'm such a gentleman—" he gave her a mock bow "—I volunteered to fetch them for her."

Ginny sighed, brushing past him to Evie's desk. "Volunteered, huh? More like she made you."

"You know her too well," Ollie said with a chuckle, watching as she gathered the books into a neat stack. "She can be terrifying when she's in the zone."

Ginny hummed in agreement, turning back toward him with the books in hand. The weight of them pressed into her arms, and for a fleeting moment, she considered slamming the door in his face just for the audacity of showing up unannounced. But instead, she handed them over with a huff. 

"Here. Tell her she owes me for putting up with her ridiculous scatterbrain."

He took the books easily, his fingers brushing hers briefly—a fleeting, warm touch that lingered longer than it should have in her thoughts. She stepped back, fully intending to retreat into her room and close the door on this unexpected interruption. But Ollie, as always, had other plans.

"Wait," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "Have you had dinner yet?"

Ginny froze, her fingers still resting on the edge of the door. She opened her mouth to say something dismissive, but before the words could form, her stomach betrayed her with a loud, unmistakable growl.

Ollie's grin returned, smug and triumphant, like he'd just won a bet. "Well, that answers that."

Ginny's face burned, and she clutched the doorknob tightly, willing herself not to slam it shut and lock it for good measure. "That doesn't mean I'm hungry." she muttered, though the argument felt weak even to her ears.

"Sure, it doesn't," Ollie teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. He shifted the books under one arm and stepped back, tilting his head toward the hallway. "Come on. There's an italian place near campus that stays open late. My treat."

Ginny hesitated, torn between the lure of food and the principle of not rewarding his uninvited interruption. But as her stomach gave another plaintive rumble, she sighed in resignation. 

"Fine," she said, "But if the food's bad, I'm blaming you."

"It's amazing. You'll love it. You loved that ramen place, didn't you?" Ollie said with an easy smile, already turning to lead the way. "And for what it's worth, I promise not to scare you half to death next time."

Ginny scoffed, following him into the dimly lit corridor. "I'll believe it when I see it."

But as they walked together, her annoyance began to ebb, replaced by a strange, quiet warmth she couldn't quite explain.

The night had settled fully now, the crisp air carrying the faint scent of damp leaves and the lingering warmth of autumn days past. Ginny walked alongside Ollie, their steps soft against the gravel path that wound its way through campus. The lamplight spilled in scattered pools along the way, flickering faintly where the bulbs strained against the encroaching dark.

As they neared the grove of trees that bordered her dorms, Ginny felt it—a prickling sensation at the base of her neck, the kind that made her skin tighten and her breath quicken. Someone was watching. The certainty of it wormed its way into her chest, burrowing deep until she couldn't ignore it anymore.

She stopped abruptly, turning toward the shadowed line of trees. The branches stretched skyward like spindly fingers, their shapes shifting as the wind passed through them, casting strange, flickering patterns on the ground. But no matter how hard she squinted, she couldn't see anyone there. Just darkness, dense and unyielding.

Ollie paused beside her, his brow furrowing as he followed her gaze. "What's up?"

He glanced toward the trees, his green eyes narrowing slightly as though he might spot whatever it was she had sensed.

Ginny forced herself to look away, rubbing the back of her neck where the hairs still stood on end. 

"It's nothing," she said quickly, her tone more dismissive than she intended. "Just… felt cold, I guess."

Ollie didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press. Instead, he shifted the books tucked under his arm, balancing them against his side as he shrugged off his jacket. Before Ginny could protest, he draped it over her shoulders, his movements brisk but careful, the faint scent of cedarwood and ink clinging to the fabric.

"You can't be walking around freezing," he said simply, adjusting the collar so it covered the curve of her neck. The logo on the chest read Team Physics in bold, slightly worn lettering. A trace of a smirk played on his lips as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That's two jackets now, Ginny. At this rate, I'm gonna owe you for life. How do you plan to collect?"

The warmth of his jacket was immediate, seeping into her skin like an unexpected kindness. She let herself smile, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. 

"You already owe me," she countered lightly, "Or did you forget about the two dinners you've already stolen me away for?"

Ollie chuckled.

"Those were payback for tolerating my jokes," he said, the glint in his eyes betraying his amusement. "This? This is a long-term debt. I'll have to start a ledger at this rate."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered, softening the edges of her earlier unease. She glanced back at the trees once more, the shadows still and silent now, as if they had never shifted at all. Whatever had been there—or whatever she thought had been there—was gone.

Maybe it had been nothing.

Or maybe not.