The first time I saw her, it was during a late evening lecture at NUS.

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The classroom was half-full, the fluorescent lights above buzzing softly, and the air conditioning was blasting—an attempt to fight the usual Singapore heat and humidity. Still, the room felt a bit sticky, like the kind of heat you can't escape, no matter how cool they set the AC. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was a typical evening on campus.

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I was running late, as usual, scanning the rows for an empty seat when my eyes landed on her—Jasmine.

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She was sitting near the back, her legs crossed at the ankles under her desk, laptop open in front of her but not exactly in use.

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Her messy bun was slightly askew, strands of hair falling out in a way that somehow looked intentional, as though she didn't care about looking “perfect.”

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Her black cropped tee clung to her in all the right places, showing off just a hint of skin, and paired with high-waisted jeans that had that lived-in look to them, like she’d been wearing them for months. White sneakers, slightly scuffed, completed the outfit—practical, casual, and perfect for Singapore’s muggy weather.

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There was something effortlessly cool about her. Not “trying-to-be-cool” but just… confident in the way she was.

 

You could tell she wasn’t bothered by the fact that most people in class were glued to their phones, pretending to focus on the lecture. She was present in her own quiet way.

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I caught her eye for a brief moment when she looked up from her laptop, and I quickly turned away, pretending to check the time on my phone, not wanting to make it obvious that I had been staring.

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But that glance? It stuck.

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Her eyes were cool, calculating, almost distant, but not in a way that made her unapproachable. More like she was in her own world, and you were lucky if she let you in for a moment.

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I found a seat two rows in front of her, trying to focus on the lecture, but I kept sneaking glances back at her.

 

Every now and then, I’d see her twirling a pen between her fingers or tapping something out on her phone.

 

She didn’t seem distracted, though. She just had this calm, collected energy about her that made it clear she didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

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When the class ended, I packed up my things and stood up to leave.

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But before I could move, I noticed that she was already halfway out the door, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

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Smooth. No hesitations, no lingering, just in and out.

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I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should say something, maybe introduce myself. But she was already gone, disappearing into the crowd in the hallway.

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That night, I lay in my bed back in my hostel, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me.

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The room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of the fridge across the room. I couldn’t shake the image of her—the girl in the messy bun, sitting there like she didn’t care about the world around her.

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Jasmine.

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Something told me I’d be seeing her again soon.