new week came the rise of a new Krista.

For my peace of mind, some things had to change about my perception of Quen. I couldn't let his marching band rehearsals be the most exciting part of my day, nor could I continue chasing down opportunities to spend time with him as if they were goldfish food and I was a goldfish.

I had more brains than that.

The first step was turning off notifications about his messages. Granted, it took more than just turning the notifications off for me to stop checking my phone, but it was the thought that counted. In time I would learn not to anticipate Quen getting in touch, raising my hopes for no good reason. If he happened to ask me about the homework, or send through a coding, or Star Wars meme—pretty much the only two things we conversed over—I would see it eventually.

At a time that didn't interfere with my own priorities.

I still sat with Quen in the lectures. Most of the time, we were too focused on the professor to really get sidetracked so there was no harm in being next to him. Plus, it was good to have someone with which to consolidate the material and catch the words that slipped through my ears.

The second step was to remain professional at work. That wasn't to say up till this point my behaviour regarding Quen had been unprofessional. All the goods and services—meaning food and VIP access—that I had given him and his friends were paid for by yours truly, and I never spent more than twenty minutes with them on any night.

Like, I knew some bouncers who took bathroom breaks longer than that.

But no matter how I compensated for the special treatment, the special treatment itself needed to stop. I needed to give every patron equal time and attention, and if his friend group were about to be kicked out or turned away, I wouldn't save any of them. Even though I was confident I could stick to those boundaries, when I arrived at work on Tuesday evening, ready for the student night rush, a part of me was unsure.

He was so adorable when he was drunk. Red-cheeked, playful and talkative. It was so exhilarating going toe to toe with his unfiltered blunt opinions, despite knowing I shouldn't take anyone's liquor talk seriously. Even Quen's. And those occasional moments when he stubbornly just had to fight to be heard over the pounding music, and he'd drop his mouth beside my ear—

I slammed my head back against my car seat. Quit fantasising. The dumpster that Topaz shared with the two businesses adjacent to the building stared back at me. It was steadily getting colder, and the stream of warm air from the dashboard heater died softly after I cut the engine.

I could totally stick to my boundaries with Quen.

But what if I couldn't?

Better yet, what if I didn't have to? All my problems would be solved if he just stopped frequenting Topaz. Quen going to town was always the off chance, anyways.

He was as balanced as a college student could be, but he leaned towards the more introverted side of the social spectrum. Sometimes I spotted him at Topaz before he spotted me—which was rare, considering the flashy, attention-grabbing nature of my usual attire—and just observed him with his usual crew, Fraser and Noah.

True to what I had discovered the second time I ran into him here, he didn't like to dance.

It was not that he was incapable of it. Being a musician meant he could easily catch a beat, but he never seemed to be able to lose himself in the music the way others did, albeit that, in general, others were mentally lost under the influence of either alcohol or drugs.

Quen would sway his shoulders while his friends would jump up and down with boundless energy. He would softly pump his fist while his friends punched the air like the air had murdered their family. And when Fraser and Noah would zone back in enough from their drunken stupor to scrutinise if he was having fun, Quen would match their jumping and arm movements with a smile so bright it blinded them to his apathy.

He was as good a social chameleon as I was.

That was probably why I had let myself get carried away with my crush. Quen was so good at mirroring the social environment he was in, that I mistook it as positive encouragement. In reality, I was just seeing my own eagerness reflected off of him, like light from the moon.

As it turned out, the off chance—Quen going to town—came tonight. Nearly immediately after I left the staffroom and stepped out onto the dancefloor, I saw Quen with Fraser and Noah. He had been drinking, cheeks red with that familiar flush...

I shook myself out of another daydream before it started.

It was time to lay down some lines in the sand, and to steel my resolve with one more boundary for myself. When the three boys inevitably spotted me in my white two-piece, which glowed fluorescently under the blue light, I stuck my hand above the crowd and waved. My plan was to be as friendly as ever so Quen never noticed me pulling away.

After they waved back, and I was satisfied that Quen was satisfied with the interaction, I flipped my hair over my shoulder and lost myself in the crowd. If I could make all our future Topaz interactions just as wordless, the more the better.

Even if I felt worse and worse with every step I took away from Quen.

The third step was to cease any unnecessary interactions not bound by mandatory commitments, like classes and work.

That meant, outside of lectures, tutorials and shifts at Topaz, we shouldn't be hanging out. Viv had said that "giving him space might force him to meet you halfway" and I really hoped she was right. I hoped Quen would miss my presence enough to re-instigate my plan to get lunch, or at least offer an alternative hangout. I would even take him suggesting that we start studying together again. Viv would have chastised me for setting the bar on the ground with that last one, but there was no way I could ever play the role of the stone-cold, hard-to-get princess as well as she did.

I thought it was a monumental development to even cease our regular library 'study' sessions. Following the Biophys lecture on Wednesday morning, during which my eyes stung from lack of sleep, I slowed my pace until Quen stopped and turned to me. The rest of the students in the hallway bustled around us.

"Hey," I began, tossing my thumb in the opposite direction of the library and pinching my eyebrows together apologetically. "I really appreciate studying with you, but I might have to stop. I've got a massive Toxicology assignment to work on, so I'm going to a study group with some classmates of mine. We're going to really concentrate on it for the next week or two."

Quen's eyes widened as he realised the implications. "Oh."

I felt almost guilty for putting this much space between us so abruptly. I had tossed up between different excuses, like a friend emergency or a new campus volunteer group I joined, but this one was the simplest. Occam's Razor, after all.

Additionally, it was also the most truthful. Jake, Viv and I did arrange to study for our Toxicology midterm together. But that meeting was neither happening right now, nor was it for some important assignment, just revision. However, starting at the end of the week, we would have enough study sessions together that either of them could be used as believable covers should I ever need it.

Slipping in small details—like names, places or times—always made lies that much more believable.

In one split second, I thought I saw a flash of something in Quen's deep brown eyes, but then he was smiling softly before me, all understanding. He rolled his shoulders, using the motion to jerk both straps of his backpack more stably on his shoulders.

"Fair enough." He waved to me while he continued towards the library. "Good luck with it."

"Thanks, Quen. I'll see you around." As I turned and made my way to some random study corner to hide until my next lecture, I refused to look back at him.

But his voice followed me as I strode off, "See you, Krista."

His messages were silenced. I didn't speak to him at work. After each lecture, I made a speedy departure before we could talk about anything substantial. By the time Thursday rolled around, I was walking to the Biophysics tutorial classroom with an anchor in my gut.

The tutorial was the last bastion of our one-on-one exchanges, and before the hour was up I had to destroy it. That was the rule.

Nothing dramatic would take place. I wouldn't suddenly stop talking to Quen or change the way I acted around him. If I felt stuck in a limbo, torn between being Quen's friend and wishing for more, my goal was to shove our relationship squarely into the friendzone. Then the ball would be in his court, and I could stop torturing myself with daydreams and what-ifs.

If he ever decided to shoot his shot, it would be at his own pace.

The plan I had concocted relied only on one fortunate encounter. If there truly was some cosmic karmic force, luck would be on my side after making a Tantalus of me at work two days ago. The universe would pay me back for dangling Quen, looking lethally handsome in his long-sleeved shirt and jeans, all night long—which was unusual for his group, who always left within an hour—right in front of my nose, by dropping a certain someone in my path.

I saw her wave in my periphery as I passed her, eyes trained ahead. "Krista!"

I turned to face Joelle and grinned cheerily, as if I'd only just noticed her. "Hey, Joelle," I greeted. "I didn't get to chat with you before I left the tutorial last week. Was Grant too tough on you?"

Joelle fell into stride with me, and we kept walking towards the tutorial classroom together. She twisted a lock of her curly blonde hair around her finger. "He was alright. He looked at my half-page worth of working and gave me this really disappointed frown, but he did say he would give constructive criticism on whatever we produced so he couldn't actually scold me."

"This is true," I laughed. "He said he'd play nice."

Joelle continued, with a wince, "It's just that he had a lot of constructive criticism in my case. So much."

I frowned concernedly. "Ouch. Did you end up having to stay for long?"

"We worked about five minutes into the next tutorial, then their tutor arrived and kicked us out. But it's all done and dusted, anyway. Now I can forget about it."

I laughed again, just loud enough that it turned the head of the stranger that passed us. "I completely, completely agree."

My laughter wasn't disingenuous, just enhanced. Joelle had a natural mirth about her that shot through her fingers and hair and smile into her surroundings. Firstly, she would like that I found her so funny. Secondly, laughter subconsciously brings people closer.

"Thank you for your help last week, by the way," she smiled at me. "It's because of you I even had a half-page."

"You're welcome. We're all in the same leaking ship that is Pre-Med, so I don't mind at all," I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. "Let me know if you ever want to check answers or make a study group or something."

Her eyes widened with glee, "Oh, gosh, really?"

"Mhm," I hummed lightly.

"Well, then... could I maybe spend tutorials with you? You seem really capable," she said, twisting her hair between her fingers. "My Pre-Med friends are great, but they're a bit— hm, how do I say this?"

"Scattered?"

"Ha!" Joelle exclaimed. "Kind of the opposite. When it comes to studying, abandoning their academic integrity is their first resort, and they immediately start arranging group calls and swapping answers to share the workload. Whereas I'd really like cheating to be my last resort. Especially because med schools are so competitive. I need to rely on my own abilities."

"Ah, gotcha. You should totally sit with me then," I invited. "I'm not sure if you know the other guy at my table, but he's super chill."

Joelle's eyes slid sideways to meet mine. She hesitantly asked, "Quentin, is it?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he won't mind at all."

"Okay," she agreed. "That would be much appreciated."

And that was all three steps completed.

One new addition to our tutorial group didn't seem to rock the boat, but I knew most of our teasing and inside jokes would eventually die away once Joelle settled in. I didn't want to be inconsiderate to Jo, or exclude her from anything—and I knew Quen would naturally think the same.

He wouldn't even decide consciously to make the conversations less personal and more accessible; his thoughtful personality would make the necessary small adjustments completely of its own momentum. That was Quen. Always kind.

When I brought Jo over to my usual table and introduced her, a sudden wave of emotion washed over me. It wasn't regret, because I'd agonised over this plan the whole week. Nor was it sadness, because I was watching Quen fighting his shyness in order to be accommodating to Jo a mere two feet away — and how could I be sad while he was still in my life?

Maybe there wasn't an English word for this emotion. I didn't know any Mandarin term for it either.

But I felt like I had just purposefully cut the string of a helium balloon. I was fully prepared to watch it drift, up and away, into a grey-blanketed sky. Disappearing behind clouds. It wasn't a mistake to regret because I had done it by my own hand.

I just—

Couldn't get it back.

For plot reasons (like being old to work at Topaz for how long Krista has) her birthday is in December, but what star sign does she seem like?

I think Cancer. Very good at pulling social strings (some might say manipulative, I say intuitive), empathetic and in touch with her emotions. She's got a unique type of power and strength.

(Also... as a Physics major, I feel like I have to declare that I'm only ironically interested in horoscopes... don't come for me.)

Aimee x