Chapter 2
The computer lab was quiet late at night, with only the hum of servers breaking the silence. This was my favorite time to work—no noisy discussions, no meaningless social distractions, just me and my code.
I was optimizing a sorting algorithm when footsteps approached behind me. I didn't even bother turning around.
"Kelly?"
That tentative tone. I kept typing. "If you're here about today's assignment, the documentation is in the shared folder."
"Actually..." The sound of a chair being dragged, then Brett sat down next to me. "I'm having trouble with this loop statement."
I paused, glancing at him. Basketball practice gear, sweat, the typical athlete look of someone who'd rushed over from training. Showing up here at this hour meant he either genuinely needed help, or had ulterior motives.
"Which loop?" I asked in the flattest tone possible.
He opened his laptop, pointing to what was on screen. "This one... I just can't wrap my head around it."
I glanced at his code and already had my assessment. This was first-week intro material—anyone with basic logical thinking shouldn't be stuck here. But judging from his classroom performance yesterday, his comprehension was actually decent.
"This is basic iteration structure," I said bluntly. "Your logical thinking is better than you're letting on. Stop playing dumb."
Surprise flickered in his eyes. "You think I'm smart?"
Interesting. Apparently no one had ever told him that.
"Smart and lazy aren't mutually exclusive," I turned back to my screen and continued working. "But I hate people who waste their talent."
Brett fell silent for a few seconds. I could feel him staring at me, but I wasn't about to give him extra attention.
"So... could you teach me?"
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. As project partners, ensuring he could keep up was necessary. But from another angle, this might be his strategy—using studying as an excuse to get close to me.
"I'm not a tutor," I set boundaries first.
"I know, but... as project partners, you need to make sure I can keep up, right?"
Fair point.
"Fine. But only once."
For the next hour, I systematically explained the basic concepts. Brett's learning ability was actually quite good—he grasped key points quickly and asked relevant questions. Seems I'd misjudged him—he wasn't actually stupid, just hadn't seriously studied programming before.
What surprised me was how professional he remained throughout. No unnecessary personal comments, no attempts to steer conversation toward non-academic topics, no inappropriate body language.
"Got it now?" I saved the code file.
"Yeah." His answer sounded honest.
"Then I'm leaving." I started packing my things.
"Wait," he stood up. "Want to grab some late-night food? I know this great place..."
There it was. I knew this part was coming.
"No thanks." I shouldered my bag. "Good night, Brett."
Leaving the lab, I couldn't help thinking about what just happened. Brett was actually pretty smart, though his interest in me definitely went beyond just studying.
This could become a problem.
The next day at lunch, I carried my tray toward my regular spot in the cafeteria—corner table, back to the wall, with a view of the entire dining hall but not easily disturbed.
There was a bouquet of champagne roses on the table.
I stopped, quickly scanning my surroundings. Brett emerged from behind a nearby pillar, wearing that expression I'd seen on countless girls' faces—that typical confident smile that worked for him.
"Surprise!" he said.
I looked at the flowers, then at him. Flowers? Did he really think I'd fall for this?
"What's this?" I asked, though the answer was obvious.
"For you. Thanks for helping me last night."
"Debugging programs is my obligation as a project partner. No thanks needed." I walked around the bouquet and sat down, starting on my salad. The flowers remained untouched.
Brett clearly hadn't expected this reaction, but still sat across from me. "So... there's an important game Saturday. I could get you the best seats."
I didn't look up. "I'm not interested in sports, and I'm not interested in privileges."
"Privileges?"
"VIP seating is a form of privilege." I put down my fork and looked at him seriously. "I don't need special treatment."
His confident expression began to crack. "Then what are you interested in?"
Finally, getting to the point. I stopped eating and decided to give him an honest answer:
"Writing perfect code. Solving real problems."
"Like what?"
"Like optimizing campus wireless network bandwidth allocation, or designing more efficient course registration systems." Talking about this, I felt that familiar excitement. "These things can actually impact thousands of students' lives."
Brett looked at me with a complex expression, clearly having never thought about such things.
"You're really special," he said.
"I'm just logical." I resumed eating, then glanced at the flowers. "You can take your flowers back."
Over the next few days, Brett tried several different approaches. "Coincidental" encounters at the library, "academic discussions" in the lab, even attempting to discuss network technology issues with me. But every time, I could easily see through his little schemes.
He clearly still didn't understand that I didn't want these surface gestures.
By the fourth day, when he was once again stammering about "router configuration" in front of me, I finally lost patience.
"You don't even understand basic network protocols—what router configuration?" I looked directly at him. "If you really want to understand me, at least figure out what I actually care about first."
He stood there stunned, as if realizing for the first time that all his methods had been wrong.
Honestly, I couldn't figure this guy out. Brett was the most popular guy on campus, with girls wanting to date him lined up to the dorm building. Why was he fixated on someone who was clearly not interested in him?
Though to be fair, most guys would have given up after being treated so coldly by me. His persistence was somewhat surprising.
When I got back to the dorm at midnight, I was still thinking about this while showering. When I came out, Amy was already in bed scrolling through social media.
"Kelly, are you insane?" Amy suddenly sat up. "Brett is pursuing you! Every girl on campus wants to date him!"
I dried my hair while answering, "Popular doesn't mean right for me."
"But he's gorgeous, and rich! And a basketball star!" Amy's voice was full of disbelief. "Do you know Melissa specifically learned basketball rules just to get his attention?"
"That just shows Melissa doesn't know what she really wants." I sat on my bed and started combing my wet hair. "I'm not interested in guys who just look pretty and coast on family wealth."
"But he's trying! The whole cafeteria was talking about him giving you flowers today!"
I stopped combing. "Effort using the wrong methods is just wasting time."
"Then what kind of guy do you want?"
That was a good question. I thought about it:
"At least someone who can have a normal conversation with me. Not someone who only says 'you're so pretty' or brags about how much money they have, but someone I can actually talk to."
Amy flopped back on her bed. "Okay, your standards are definitely... unique."
"Not unique, just different from others." I turned off the light. "Good night."
Lying in the darkness, I heard faint sounds outside the window—probably wind through the leaves.
Maybe I was overthinking it, but Brett's persistence seemed a bit strange. Logically, someone like him would have moved on to someone else after being rejected a few times. Why was he so fixated on me?
Whatever, no point dwelling on it. I rolled over, ready to sleep.
