“The classes are done,” I announced, stretching my arms overhead like I’d actually been paying attention. My fingers reached lazily for the fading blue sky, and my back gave a satisfying little crack.

Dao didn’t even glance up from his phone. “I doubt you were focusing on anything other than your next performance.”

“He’s not wrong,” Easter added, walking ahead with a dramatic yawn. “You were doodling Johan’s name in calligraphy during the physics lecture.”

“They were runes,” I said calmly. “Hexes. For strategic purposes.”

Phoon snorted. “Sure, baby witch.”

We were just crossing through the archway toward the dorm path when I saw them—Johan, flanked by his ever-loyal entourage- P’Arthit, P’Tonfah, and P’Hill, all clustered around his bike in the parking lot like a squad of morally grey side characters.

P’Arthit was the first to notice us. He brightened and lifted a hand.

I softened immediately, schooling my features into something warm and bashful. I gave a gentle smile and a polite little wai. Meek. Respectful. Irresistible.

“Going home?” P’Tonfah called out.

“Umm… Phi,” I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag for maximum visual fragility. “We’re just on our way to the dorm.”

And that was when I let myself glance at him.

Johan.

Leaning against his bike like he was modeling for an indie music video. One hand gripping the handlebars, the other shoved deep into his pocket. His jaw tensed. His eyes—sharp, unreadable, full of thunderclouds—were fixed on me.

He was glaring. Again.

God, he was so predictable.

I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to scoff, flip my hair, punch him in the gut and curse his whole family ancestry.

But instead… I blinked. Let my lashes tremble. My lips parted in a soft, sad smile—wounded and wistful, like a pet abandoned at a train station.

And I saw it. The shift.

P’Arthit’s brows furrowed. P’Tonfah tilted his head. P’Hill’s eyes immediately softened.

Hook, line, and sympathy.

“Oh, North,” P’Hill said, voice rich with concern. “You don’t have to pay him any mind. He’s… he’s being stupid.”

I blinked rapidly, shaking my head like I didn’t deserve their kindness. “No, Phi… please don’t say that.”

My voice came out so low, so trembling, it was practically made of silk and sorrow.

“I like him, Phi,” I continued, eyes trained firmly on the gravel. “Even if he doesn’t like me back… as long as he just glances my way sometimes, I’m… I’m happy.”

And then—just to twist the blade—I let out the softest, most pitiful little sigh. Barely audible. Practiced to perfection.

Behind me, my own friends audibly gasped.

I looked up—only slightly—to find P’Tonfah staring at me like I’d just confessed to living through three lifetimes of unrequited love.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Before I could respond, he reached forward and gently patted my cheeks with both hands. Like a comforting older brother in a melodrama. His thumbs brushed just beneath my eyes, checking for tears.

I gave him a soft smile in return. Innocent. Vulnerable. Deadly.

P’Arthit stepped closer, frowning at Johan.

“Johan,” he said sharply. “You heard that, right?”

Johan didn’t move. He was stone—jaw locked, eyes darker than a monsoon sky.

P’Hill crossed his arms. “You could try being a little less emotionally constipated, you know.”

Johan finally spoke. “He’s manipulating you.”

The silence that followed was so dense it could’ve snapped.

I kept my face perfectly blank. Let the hurt seep in slowly, like ink in water. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Oh nong, no,” P’Tonfah said, pulling me into a soft side hug. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“He’s just scared of feelings,” P’Arthit muttered.

“Or allergic to joy,” P’Hill added, glaring at Johan like he was a poorly written character arc.

My friends were gaping. Dao looked like he was watching a live action of some random romcom. Phoon was covering his mouth with both hands. Easter just sat down on a nearby bench like he needed to process a death in the family.

Eventually, the group began to disperse. P’Arthit ruffled my hair gently before turning away, and P’Hill gave Johan a firm pat on the back that felt more like a warning.

I stood there, letting the warmth of their attention fade.

Only when Johan turned his back on me did I let my lips curve, just slightly.

Johan, Johan let's see how long you can resist my charm.

✿✿✿⁠ 

Back in the dorm room, I sprawled dramatically across my bed, legs dangling off the edge like some jilted lover from a period drama.

Easter was still standing by the door, frozen like he’d witnessed a murder.

Phoon lay face-down on the floor, unmoving. Possibly dissociating.

Dao sat cross-legged, eating dry cereal out of the box like he’d given up on life.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, deep in thought.

“The thing is,” I finally said, “maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

“No shit,” Phoon’s muffled voice came from the carpet.

“I’ve been playing the long game. The emotional chess match. Soft eyes, sad smiles, tragic monologues…”

Dao cut in. “And guilt-tripping his friends until they were ready to adopt you.”

“Exactly,” I said, sitting up. “But what if Johan isn’t the ‘emotional chess’ type?”

“He isn’t,” Easter said flatly. “He’s a ‘football and protein shakes’ type.”

“Then I need a new strategy,” I said, eyes glinting. “Something simple. Direct. Primal.”

Phoon lifted his face just enough to groan, “Please don’t say seduction.”

“Cooking” I announced.

Dead silence.

Easter blinked slowly. “What?”

“Cooking,” I repeated. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I read it somewhere. Or maybe I hallucinated it. Either way—it’s brilliant.”

“You-” Dao looked physically pained. “North, you burn water.”

“I’ll learn,” I said with a determined pout. “I’m going to cook him something new every day. March out onto the football field like a sweet, humble food fairy. Win his heart with snacks and seasoning.”

Phoon turned over, face up. “This is it. This is how you kill us. With secondhand embarrassment.”

Easter groaned. “You’re going to poison that man.”

“I won’t,” I said, already unlocking my phone. “I’m calling my mom. She used to pack me lunch in primary school. She’ll know what to do.”

Dao was shaking his head. “Your poor mother has no idea what she’s about to walk into.”

I held up a finger, pressing the call button.

It rang twice before my mom picked up.

“North? Is everything okay sweetie?”

“Hi Mama,” I said sweetly. “I need your fried rice recipe.”

There was a pause. Then, suspiciously-

“Why?”

“No reason,” I said quickly. “Just… want to learn. You know. Feed myself. Life skills.”

“…You’ve never asked about a recipe unless you were trying to impress a teacher or bribe someone into doing your homework.”

“Untrue,” I said, scandalized. “I once tried to make cookies for that dog I liked in kindergarten.”

“And you set the microwave on fire.”

“That was a creative expression of love.”

“North. Baby. Are you trying to cook for a crush?”

I froze. My friends all stared at me. Dao mouthed Busted.

“No!” I said, entirely unconvincingly. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter! Can you just send me the damn rice recipe?!”

“You better not be trying to poison anyone's son.”

“Why does everyone think I’m going to poison him?”

“Because you’re dramatic, stubborn, and don’t follow measurements.”

“I’ll follow them this time! Swear!”

“Fine. I’m texting you the recipe. Use low heat. Don’t freestyle. And for the love of god, don’t try to make it cute. Fried rice is not a personality.”

“It is if you serve it with a side of longing.”

She hung up.

I tossed my phone onto the bed, victorious. “Alright, gentlemen. We’re in business.”

Phoon groaned. “God help Johan.”

Easter looked at the ceiling. “You know what? Let him suffer. He brought this on himself.”

Dao grabbed a pen and notepad. “What’s your menu for the week?”

I turned to him, grinning. “Tuesday—fried rice. Wednesday—omelette. Thursday—katsu curry. Friday—soul domination.”

They all collectively groaned again.

But me?

I was already planning how to wrap the lunch box.

Foil hearts. Maybe a handwritten note.

Johan wouldn’t know what hit him.

And if he didn’t fall in love after all that effort?

Well.

Then I’d just up the spice level until he cried.