Lately, the thing that had changed in my life wasn't my schedule—my schedule was still the same loop as always: classes, assignments, freelance work, committee stuff.
Only one thing had changed: Alan.
That afternoon I came out of the library with my brain feeling fried. Pointers. Queries. Deadlines.
On my way down the steps, my hand was already searching the side of my bag for my access card.
Nothing.
My stomach dropped.
"Please don't tell me—" I muttered, digging through my bag at the edge of the path. Comb. Charger. Lip balm. Notebook. Everything was there—except the card.
Footsteps stopped in front of me.
"Looking for this?"
I looked up.
Alan stood there, holding my access card between two fingers—like it was no big deal, when to me it was practically a lifesaver. His smile was the same as always: slight, effortless.
"Where did you find it?"
"Dropped when you were rushing earlier." He slipped the card into my palm. "About three minutes ago."
"Three minutes…" I exhaled slowly. "Were you following me?"
"No," he said quickly. Too quickly. Then, quieter: "I just happened to be walking by."
I gave him a skeptical look, but the suspicion lost out to the relief.
I closed my bag and let out a long breath. "Thanks. If that thing had gone missing, I'd have had to file a report. Such a pain."
Alan nodded once. "I know you hate hassle."
I stopped. "Since when do you know that?"
He glanced at the path ahead for a moment, then back at me. "Since you complained three times about the campus printer being broken."
I let out a small laugh. Damn. That was just last week.
"Walk back together?"
I nodded.
We headed toward the parking lot. The sound of our steps on the asphalt, the late-afternoon breeze, the easy little conversation between us—none of it felt forced.
Alan's stride matched mine, calm and steady, like that was exactly where he was supposed to be.
At the bend in the path, a puddle waited like a trap. A motorcycle shot past too fast; water sprayed outward.
Before I could move, Alan pulled my arm in toward him.
The warmth of his hand ran all the way up to my elbow.
On instinct, my fingers wrapped around his wrist—not tight, just enough to confirm this was actually happening.
"I can walk on my own," I said, but my voice had already gone soft.
"I know." He didn't let go. "I just didn't want you to get hit."
We kept walking. And I could still feel the warmth where his hand had been.
Yesterday in the meeting room, the festival banner had already been rolled up in the corner, but the air around the committee felt more pressured than ever—one week left. Sean was running through files as he talked, naming off one thing after another in a tone that left no room for error.
But before the meeting started, I'd caught Sean and Alan exchanging a few words at the doorway.
Sean's face was tight; Alan just nodded occasionally.
What surprised me was that afterward, Sean actually let Alan stay—sitting in the back row and listening to the entire agenda.
I'd glanced around the room—committee meeting, right?—but there was Alan, settled in like he had every reason to be there.
Marina hadn't shown up.
She'd texted to say she was annoyed about being assigned to logistics.
I'd actually been planning to introduce her to Alan.
That was when I realized it: ever since Alan started showing up more often in my life, Marina had slowly started pulling away—whether because she was busy, or because of something else I still didn't understand.
We were still texting, but without seeing each other in person, everything felt slightly off.
"You and Sean know each other?" I asked, keeping pace with his steps.
"Yeah, but we're not close."
"How come?"
"He's irritating. Always trying to manage everything."
I laughed. "Fair. Sometimes I get frustrated too—he carries himself like he's running the whole operation."
"But thanks to him, the festival's actually going to happen," Alan said, eyes on the path ahead.
"That's true. What were you two talking about yesterday, though?"
"Oh, he asked me to help out at the candy apple booth. I turned him down."
"Why? Wouldn't you get a cut of the sales?"
Alan let out a quiet snort, then ran a hand through his hair with deliberate, theatrical confidence.
"I could already see where it was going. Sean would've been more interested in selling me than the candy. Good-looking, basketball player, lots of fans—"
He dropped into a pitchman's voice: "Buy three candies, get a free photo with me."
I laughed. "You're such a smart aleck."
"Sean and I go way back. I know how his brain works. Total salesman mentality."
"Maybe it could've been fun, though."
"No." He glanced at me briefly. "I don't want to make you jealous. I want you to see me as someone who's actually worth your time."
My chest gave a small, involuntary lurch. "Okay, I'm flattered."
I held back a smile, then decided to test him. "What about Sakura? Sure you're not even a little tempted?"
"Not even a little." His answer came fast. "My mom is friends with Sakura's mom, so we've known each other since forever. They helped me get settled here, actually."
"Oh, really… I mean, Sakura is gorgeous. A lot of guys are into her," I said, playing it casual.
"Sure, she's pretty. But she's not nice." Alan shrugged. "She's the type who likes to tease and provoke people. Not exactly loyal. The only reason she ever got close to me was to make someone else jealous. Trust me on that."
I laughed and pinched his cheek.
Talking to Alan, when he was being straight with me, felt easy—like there was no wall between us that needed managing.
"Pretty—so you're admitting it?" I leaned in slightly. "Meaning I'm not pretty?"
"Alina, don't set a trap," he muttered, suddenly picking up the pace.
"Come on, just say it," I said, matching him.
"I'm all yours," he called back, half-running now. "I'd bet my life on that."
"That's such a line."
Alan broke into an actual run; I went after him.
We sprinted down the sidewalk laughing, turning a few heads as we went.
But I didn't care—for a moment, the world could be just us.
On another morning, after an easy jog around the complex, I came back into the apartment fanning my shirt with one hand. My breathing still hadn't quite settled.
Alan was still outside, cooling down near the glass door.
In the lobby, an older woman walked past with a tiny chihuahua in a little jacket.
My face broke into a smile automatically. "Hi, Mumu. That jacket is adorable—is it new?"
"Alina, it's been a while," she said warmly.
"I know, I used to come by so much more. How's the cat doing?"
"Still misses you, I think. Come visit when you have time."
"I will." I gave her a thumbs-up.
She smiled back, the lines around her eyes deepening.
Her lips had just started to form another word—when Mumu changed completely.
The tiny body went rigid. Her hackles were up—as if a current had run from her tail all the way to her ears.
Then the barking erupted: sharp, frantic, too loud for an animal that small.
I flinched. My heart jumped. "Hey—what's wrong?"
Mumu didn't stop.
Her eyes were locked—not on me, but on Alan, who had just stepped inside.
Alan went still too.
His expression stayed flat, but his shoulders pulled back, just slightly—like a thread had been drawn tight.
He didn't step forward or back—he just stood there, chin slightly lowered, as if trying to hide something.
"I'm—I'm so sorry." The older woman went pale. Her hands trembled as she lifted Mumu from the floor and held her tight against her chest. "She's never done this. She's usually so friendly."
"It's fine, really," I said quickly.
The woman left in a hurry, footsteps sharp across the lobby tile.
She glanced back once—puzzled—before disappearing behind the glass door.
I looked at Alan. My heartbeat still hadn't settled. "You okay?"
He gave one short nod. Too short. "Let's go up."
We walked toward the stairs.
My sneakers squeaked against the floor; Alan was beside me, his stride already back to normal, like nothing had just happened.
Then he spoke in a tone that was deliberately casual—too casual.
"Aren't pets not allowed in this building?"
"Yeah." I nodded slowly, still watching him from the side. "She's not a resident. Just a neighbor who was visiting."
I breathed in, then added, "Still weird, though. Mumu is usually so calm around everyone."
Alan lifted a shoulder. "Maybe she's just not in a good mood today."
I nodded a little, even though something in me wasn't quite satisfied with that.
Once inside, I dropped flat onto the floor.
The cool tile against my back felt like a reward.
"Give me a minute," I groaned, massaging my calf. "My legs feel like tangled cables."
Alan stood near the kitchen doorway. "Here."
He held out a water bottle.
I took two long gulps, then looked up at him sideways.
"How are you never tired?"
He shrugged. "I'm used to it. You just don't work out enough."
"Yeah, probably." I let my head fall back against the floor again. "Hey—speaking of things I can't let go of…"
"What?"
"The computer lab incident."
Alan blinked. "Which one?"
"The one you—" I pressed my lips together to hold back the laugh— "blew up."
He covered his face with his hand for a second. "Oh damn. That's still going around?"
"It's basically campus legend. The disciplinary record had so much detail." I pushed myself halfway up, fighting the smile. "Tell me the whole story. The honest version."
Alan let out a long exhale, like a man accepting a sentence.
"Okay. So. The computers in that lab were painfully slow. I wanted to make them faster. I swapped out the power cable for a thicker one—borrowed from Yuki's robotics project."
I was already starting to laugh.
"And then?"
"Then I plugged the red cable into the wrong pin." He shook his head at himself. "I thought it was just a minor adjustment. My instincts said it was fine—I didn't even Google it."
I slapped the floor. "What happened next?"
"I added an extra capacitor from a dead motherboard to stabilize the voltage. Then manually overclocked the RAM—bumped it from 1.2V to 1.8V. No additional cooling."
"ALAN." I completely lost it.
"At first it was going great. The fan was spinning. The screen was on. The benchmark score jumped. I was so proud of myself I immediately loaded a heavy game to test it."
He paused. His eyes went somewhere distant.
"Then… burning smell."
"WHAT—"
"Capacitor overheated. Wrong cable caused a short circuit. Within seconds—spark. I panicked, tried to pull the plug. Too late. POP."
I sat up fully, laughing so hard my stomach hurt, eyes watering. "Black smoke? Actual sparks?!"
"Yeah. The whole room smelled like burnt wire. Luckily the fire went out fast, but the fire alarm still went off. The whole campus went into chaos."
"And then you got chewed out?"
"Not just by the professor. The dean and the rector's office chewed me out too."
"The punishment?"
"I had to replace every single computer in the lab."
I stared at him. "You're actually loaded."
Alan looked at me flatly. "That's not being loaded. That's a consequence."
Simple words. But something about them settled warmly in my chest, slow and quiet.
I used to have zero patience for people who caused chaos and then disappeared when the bill came due.
But this Alan—still reckless, still weird, still a bit of a show-off—had stood there and paid for what he broke.
"Lesson learned?" I asked, barely holding the smile back.
"Lesson learned." He nodded.
He turned toward the kitchen. "I'll make some fruit salad. No experiments."
"Good call." I gave him a thumbs-up.
From the kitchen, I heard him laugh quietly to himself.
Evening was tipping into night when I opened the first aid kit and found the cold medicine slot empty.
I clicked my tongue softly. No wonder I'd been feeling so run-down lately—or maybe I was just pushing myself too hard.
When I opened my front door, Alan was already standing there.
A mask over the lower half of his face. Cap pulled low, shadow dropping to his eyes.
I almost stepped back on instinct.
"Alan, you scared me." I pressed a hand to my chest. "Standing there like a statue. I thought you were a debt collector."
"You have debt?"
"No. I mean—can you ring the bell like a normal person?" I squinted at him. "Why are you wearing a mask? Are you sick? Cough? Cold?"
"No." His voice was slightly muffled. "I caught a sharp smell earlier."
"A smell?" I sniffed the air around me. "I don't smell anything."
"Not sure." He lifted a shoulder. "My nose has been kind of sensitive lately. Where are you going?"
"Pharmacy."
"Drink this first."
Alan held out a bottle of cramp relief.
I stared at it. Then at him. "Alan… you're starting to scare me."
"I'm just paying attention."
"I know, but—"
"You don't like being cared for?"
My mouth opened. The words got stuck somewhere on the way out.
"It's not that," I said finally, letting out a slow breath. "It's just… you're always here. Like you don't have anything else going on except showing up for me."
"Don't overthink it," he said lightly.
His hand came up and brushed over my hair—gentle, like it already knew the way.
"Thanks." I drank the packet down, still holding onto a vague awkwardness I couldn't shake.
"Sure. Come on, I'll walk you."
"It's just the next complex over. We can walk."
"Yeah. I'll come with you."
We headed downstairs.
Alan's fingers wrapped around my palm just like that, and I let them.
Our steps fell into sync along the narrow complex sidewalk.
I tried to look casual, but my mind kept talking over itself: did I really need him with me right now—or was I just starting to get addicted to this?
At the pharmacy, I picked up cold medicine, vitamins, and band-aids.
Alan added one more thing to the basket—a small tube of antiseptic ointment—and set it down like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I'm not injured," I said.
"You forget things," he said flatly. "If small cuts don't get treated, they can get infected."
I looked at him. "You talk like a doctor."
"Think of me as a patch update."
I made a face, but the corner of my mouth went up anyway.
At the register, I reached into my bag.
Wallet there.
Debit card… nowhere to be found.
I closed my eyes for a second, holding back the embarrassment. "I'm seriously glitching today."
Alan didn't make a big deal of it. His card was already at the reader.
Once we stepped outside, I stopped under the streetlight. "I'll pay you back. I mean it."
"Don't worry about it."
"Alan." I looked at him directly. "I hate owing people."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then his voice dropped, low but clear. "Then pay me back with one thing."
"What?"
His eyes dropped to our hands, not to my face.
"Don't pretend you have to be strong on your own," he said. "If you're tired, say it. If you're scared, say it." He drew a short breath. "I just want you to let me into your day. That's all."
My throat went dry.
No drama, no grand speech—and somehow that's exactly what made it land.
I reached over and held the tips of his fingers for just a moment. Gently.
"Okay," I said. "I'll try."
That night I was lying in bed scrolling through committee notifications. They kept coming in—meeting schedules, supply lists, documentation breakdowns. My head was full.
But every time my phone vibrated, I caught myself hoping it was Alan.
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I should be happy. I was happy.
Alan showed up. Alan helped. Alan listened.
And somehow, he did it consistently—like he had a checklist in his head about me: my sleep schedule, the way I panicked, the way I complained when I was stressed.
Part of me felt genuinely touched.
A smaller part of me was… unsettled.
Too neat.
Too precise.
I shook my head. "Alina, stop," I whispered to myself. "He's just attentive."
My phone buzzed.
Alan: Alina, I'm coming to the festival. It's this Saturday, right? Want to go together?
Me: Sure, but I'm on the committee. I have to be on campus by six.
Alan: Easy. I'll be banging on your door at four in the morning.
Me: Alan, I'm serious.
Alan: If I need to, I'll just move somewhere closer to you. Anything open in your building?
Me: There aren't any openings here.
Alan: Then I'll check somewhere nearby.
Me: Good luck. Places around here are always full.
Alan: That's fine. As long as it's close to you, I'll figure something out.
Me: Fine. Do whatever you want.
Alan: You don't mind?
Me: Not really. Free tutoring isn't a bad deal.
Alan: Got it.
I smiled to myself.
Warm. Relieving.
Tomorrow's going to be fun, I thought.
Or… maybe there was a part of Alan he'd never really shown me. And for some reason, that thought kept me from falling asleep right away.