By the ti rlina crossed the courtyard, five people had already said hi to her. Two had smiled like they ant it. One guy actually ran back to open the door for her.
Another girl with a nose ring whispered sothing to her friend as rlina passed, then waved awkwardly and said, "Love your pants!"
And soone she definitely didn’t know, called her ’Queen’ under their breath.
It was... weird.
After the storm of headlines, the Twitter hashtags, the stares, the brutal comnts online, this wasn’t the reception she’d expected.
Not even close.
She half-expected rotten fruit. Or a strongly worded protest sign. At the very least, a pointed cough or a muttered "Whore of Belford"
Instead, she got smiles. Nods. One girl even held out her hand and said, "You’re so brave."
rlina blinked. "Uh...thanks."
As she climbed the staircase toward her first class, she felt like she was moving through a parallel universe. The sa Belford hallways. The sa posters peeling from the corkboard. But sohow, everything was different.
Even a girl at the vending machine smiled like they’d shared a sleepover once.
What the hell is happening?
She stepped into her lecture hall five minutes early. Phoebe and gan were already seated. Far left, second row. They didn’t look at her. Didn’t even blink in her direction.
Fine.
She was starting to get used to this treatnt, then she chose a seat in the middle row. Neutral territory. She set down her notebook and smoothed her palms over the desk, trying to focus, breathe and be normal.
Just then, two girls slid into the seats next to her a few seconds later, almost in sync.
"Hey, rlina, right?" one of them said, smiling warmly.
The other leaned forward slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "We just wanted to say... whatever you did to Craig Lesnar? Girl, respect. You made him look like he actually feels things. Like, emotional range unlocked. Which is wild, because let’s be real, that guy used to have the depth of a rock."
rlina blinked. "Oh. Um..."
She was completely lost for words. It was only now starting to hit her, that maybe Craig’s speech had a lot more impact than she thought.
"You’re in dia Ethics, right?" the first girl asked. "Wanna grab a coffee after class? We’re doing a study group later too, if you’re not busy."
"I—uh..." rlina didn’t know how to say yes or no or anything in between. Her brain was still buffering.
No one ever invited her to things. Not like this. The only real friends she’d made at Belford were Phoebe and gan.
This kind of friendliness, the casual offer, the warm smiles...it felt foreign. Suspicious, even. Like it was ant for soone else and just got misdelivered to her inbox by mistake.
The other girl leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "But, just between us girls..."
rlina looked up warily.
She grinned like they were co-conspirators. "How’d you bag Craig Lesnar? Like, what did you say in your prayers? Was it a Latin chant? Did you summon the ghost of Cleopatra? Give sothing, girl."
rlina let out a startled fake laugh. Half nerves, half disbelief.
She’d been dreading walking back into Belford, after that unforgettably traumatic day, that nightmare. Now, she was being received with warmth and smiles, she was supposed to feel relieved.
Except—no.
Oh God. This?
This was exactly the kind of attention she didn’t want.
She was still scrambling for sothing to say, when the girl suddenly pulled out her phone.
"Wait, mm-mm," the girl said, tapping the screen like this was urgent national business. "This is my favorite angle of you guys. You look so cute!"
rlina leaned in, confused and then froze.
There it was.
A photo ?
Of her and Craig. At the airport. The mont they stepped off the plane from Paris.
She had one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, it must’ve been cold, while he looked down at her like he was about to say sothing, eyes soft, almost amused.
She wasn’t even aware she was being photographed. She was only looking at him.
rlina blinked. "I’m sorry... where did you get this?"
The girl shrugged. "Um, I don’t know? Soone must’ve spotted you guys. It’s all over Stories."
"Oh," rlina said, nodding slowly, but her insides felt like lting wax.
Right. Of course.
People had seen this. Sohow, without her aning to, she’d turned into soone, sothing, people talked about.
And her business? Was apparently everyone’s business now.
The cafeteria slled like fries and faintly burnt coffee. rlina slid her tray along the counter, collected a plate of pasta she wasn’t sure she’d eat, and grabbed the least bruised apple from the fruit bin.
She scanned the room.
Phoebe and gan were already seated at a two-top by the window. Two seats. No extra chair. No eye contact.
They didn’t want company, loud and clear.
So rlina made her way to the far end of the cafeteria, to a table no one ever picked because it was right under the flickering light and beside the trash bins. Perfect. Invisible.
She sat down, tucked her legs under the chair, and exhaled. Maybe now she could eat in peace. Without anyone starting a random conversation.
She was barely two bites into her food when she heard whispers. Not loud. But unmistakable.
She looked up.
Craig Lesnar.
Tall, broad-shouldered, jacket unzipped over a plain black tee. Standing at the entrance like he’d wandered into the wrong building. Because, well...he didn’t co here. Ever.
rlina’s fork paused mid-air. Other heads were turning too, so discreet, others not. He was scanning the room like he was looking for sothing.
Their eyes t.
Her heart hiccuped.
Craig moved. Not in a rush. Just steady, assured steps straight toward her. He didn’t glance around. Didn’t falter. Just walked right up and sat next to her like they’d planned this.
She stared at him. "What are you doing here?"
He smirked. "What does it look like?"
"Craig." She shot him a look. "We said we weren’t gonna do anything public. You’re breaking the rules already."
"I’m not doing anything," he said, leaning back casually. "I’m just sitting next to...a...friend."
He threw her a teasing look, one that lingered a second too long, full of quiet mischief and sothing undeniably more than friendly.
rlina looked at him, the protest dying on her tongue. Because she knew exactly what that look ant. And in that second, with her heart doing cartwheels and her brain officially giving up the fight... she just let it go.
Whatever this was, she wasn’t winning.
Not with him looking at her like that.
"What are you having?" he asked, nodding to her tray.
"Pasta. It’s not great."
"Tragic," he said, pretending to wince. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to co with . There’s this spot I usually go to for lunch. You know, Keith and I aren’t really talking, so..." He shrugged. "You’re kinda stuck with ."
Despite herself, she smiled. "Wow. High honor."
He looked around briefly, casually, and caught sight of Phoebe and gan. They were watching. Not even pretending not to.
He didn’t say anything. Just turned back to rlina and said, matter-of-factly, "Besides. You don’t really have friends anymore."
rlina raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the reminder."
Craig chuckled under his breath. "Guess we’re in exile together, then."
It made her laugh. Just enough to ease the tightness in her shoulders. Still, she didn’t want this to beco a scene.
She ate faster than she normally would, brushing hair out of her face, eyes glued to her tray.
When she stood up, still trying to swallow down, fork half-raised. Craig was already on his feet.Before she could grab her coat, he reached behind her, lifted it, and draped it gently over her shoulders.
His hands hovered just long enough to turn the gesture into sothing tender. The motion was so easy and smooth. It felt like sothing he’d done a hundred tis before.
Of course, people noticed.
Not a flash of a cara this ti, but withheld gasps, low giggles, and the unmistakable energy of girls filing the mont under "evidence" for whatever fan theory they had about Craig Lesnar being a romantic.
rlina’s cheeks burned. Her stomach fluttered. She was mortified. And just a little bit in love.
Craig didn’t seem fazed. He just took her hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and led her out of the cafeteria.
Outside, he opened the passenger side of his car door. She climbed in, coat still warm from his touch, and watched as he rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel.
It hit her sowhere between the parking lot and the mont his fingers brushed hers across the console. The realization settled over her like warm water and vertigo, soft and dizzying at the sa ti.
She was dating Craig Lesnar.
Not technically. Not maybe. Not in so hazy, undefined blur of stolen monts and whispered excuses.
It was happening.
Full volu, no hiding.
And despite every voice in her head telling her to be careful, telling her this was reckless and foolish and way too fast, she didn’t stop him from driving.
She didn’t stop herself from smiling, from feeling. And she didn’t, for even a second, want to be anywhere else.
The lunch itself was nice. Simple. Uneventful in the way normal things were supposed to be. They talked, teased, shared fries. For forty minutes, she felt like a person again.
But all good things, apparently, had to end.
By the ti rlina stepped back onto campus, the clouds had rolled in heavier. She checked her schedule and saw one of her afternoon classes had been canceled, so she stopped by her locker, and spun the tiny combination dial, reaching for her books.
That was when her phone buzzed.
New Email: Belford Administration
Subject: URGENT: Office of the Dean
Her stomach dropped.
She opened it quickly.
’Dear Ms. Sanchez,
You are requested to report to the Dean’s Office imdiately regarding your academic status.
Thank you,
Office of Student Affairs.’
Her hands tightened around the phone.
Academic status?
She hadn’t failed anything. She hadn’t even missed any major deadlines. What was this about?
Frowning, she shoved her books back into the locker, closed it with a clang, and headed across campus. Her boots echoed louder than usual on the tiles of the main administration hall, like every step was its own warning.
The Dean’s secretary gave her a small nod without smiling. "You can go right in."
That...wasn’t encouraging.
rlina stepped into the office.
The Dean sat behind his desk, two faculty mbers standing beside him, one from the communications departnt, the other she didn’t even recognize. No one told her to sit, but she did anyway. Slowly. Carefully.
The mont stretched, long and unspoken. She couldn’t place it, but she could tell sothing was wrong.
Then the Dean looked up. His expression wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either. A little weighed down. Like he didn’t want to be the one saying this.
"Miss Sanchez," he began. "After careful review and due process, we regret to inform you that your academic enrollnt at Belford College has been terminated, effective imdiately."
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