I didn’t expect to see her again so soon.

​

But there she was—Jasmine—standing by the whiteboard in our tutorial room, scribbling something while half the class filed in.

​

Our TA, a guy who looked like he was two missed coffees away from a breakdown, was droning on about project pairings.

​

“Group work makes the dream work,”

He said, as if we hadn’t all heard that a hundred times.

 

I was only half-listening, until—

​

“Nick and Jasmine.”

​

My eyes snapped up.

​

She turned around at the same time, met my gaze, and raised an eyebrow. Not a smile, not a frown. Just… curious.

​

“Guess we’re partners,” I said when class ended, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

​

“Looks like it,” she replied. “You any good at pretending to know what you’re doing?”

​

I grinned. “I’m practically a professional at it.”

​

We decided to meet after dinner to start on the assignment.

​

Nothing too serious—just a planning session.

​

She suggested a quiet corner of the library, the kind most people avoided because the chairs squeaked and the aircon swung between Arctic and sauna.

​

She showed up in a loose hoodie, shorts, and those same scuffed white sneakers. Hair in a ponytail this time. Casual, but she made it work.

​

“So,” I said, flipping open my laptop, “shall we pretend to be productive?”

​

Jasmine glanced at my screen. “We haven’t even started and you’ve already opened YouTube.”

​

“That’s just background noise,” I lied. “It helps me focus.”

​

She rolled her eyes but smirked. “You know what helps me focus? Not failing.”

​

We spent the next hour outlining the project, bouncing ideas back and forth. She was sharper than I expected—quick with analysis, but also not afraid to poke fun when I said something dumb. Which, to be fair, happened more than once.

​

At some point, I grumbled, “The chicken rice I had earlier was like 90% bone and 10% disappointment.”

​

Jasmine chuckled. “Please. I once got yong tau foo that looked like it had been soaking since last semester. Tragic stuff.”

​

“Ah, the culinary adventures of student life.”

​

We actually got a decent amount done, surprisingly. But what stood out to me wasn’t the work—it was how easy it felt talking to her. For someone who seemed closed off at first, Jasmine had this dry, unexpected humour that kept me on my toes.

​

As we packed up, she looked at me and said, “Same time next week?”

​

“Definitely,” I said.

And just like that, something shifted.