Kiss and Puck 15
Even during her elite athlete days, Cora’s drive was so intense that everyone around her could see it.
In her junior year, she had spent five straight hours on the ice every single day until she nailed a successful jump.
She sacrificed both dawn practices and weekends, eating the kind of meals that would make a monk jealous, and that raw determination had steered her straight to the Ivy League.
Actually, Cornell’s emphasis on physical fitness and grit did occasionally recruit ex-athletes. In an industry where survival depended on endurance and hustle, it was a smart, calculated strategy.
After she racked up the money and exited, her dream future was opening a Korean restaurant in sunny California and running it with her mother.
Then the poverty I’ve been drowning in will finally end.
After wrestling with Lagrange’s function problems for what felt like forever, Cora took a break, took a swig from her tumbler of water, and her gaze drifted to the Post-it note stuck on the binder.
Stevenson Professor’s handwritten note.
“……”
She set the tumbler down and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Why was being assigned Tristan as her partner for the group project so infuriating?
Was it because the busy hockey player might just slack off on the work? Maybe.
But thinking about it, a guy who was smart enough to be in the Founders Scholar Program didn’t strike her as the type to half-ass a class assignment.
The real reason she wanted to avoid him was something else entirely.
Being around him makes me feel off.
Whenever he was near, her body reacted first—nerves jangling, stomach twisting. She couldn’t read his smooth face at all, and facing it felt like her own insecurities were laid bare.
She’d had the same problem back in the pub.
While she was talking to Luka, her entire focus kept drifting to Tristan, drawn by the magnetic force rolling off him like a compass needle gone haywire in the same space.
He’s just arrogant and spoiled. Too bad for him. But we still have to do the project, so I’ll have to text him. Sigh.
Cora reluctantly opened her phone and launched the university’s class management app.
She tapped the message icon at the bottom, tapped the compose button, and searched for “Tristan” in the recipient field.
The hockey player’s profile picture popped up immediately—him in his team uniform.
“……”
Cora stared at the picture for a moment, then tapped the screen to compose her message.
Tristan, hello. I’m Cora Han from the Economics department, your group project partner for THEA 101. I couldn’t see your face in class, so I’m reaching out via the app. We need to schedule time for the assignment, so if you check this note, please reply to 607-555-23XX.
She kept the tone strictly professional in case he had already forgotten she existed.
Emails take forever to check, but the app gives instant notification…
Cora set the phone down and dove back into her studies.
The library was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages turning.
As Cora silently worked, her practice notebook slowly filled with scribbled equations.
She set her pen down with a clack and stared at her still-unanswered phone.
Letting out another sigh, she picked it up again and reopened the app.
The message inbox was still empty.
Any student at Chatsworth University checked this app multiple times a day; there was no way he hadn’t turned on notifications…
She opened the message window anyway, hoping he had texted, but there was still nothing.
Maybe he’s in the middle of a long hockey practice and can’t check his phone? I’ll wait a little longer.
It was unlike her usual self to feel this restless. Cora shook her head and buried her face back in her major textbook.
***
By the time she finally left the library at nine o’clock at night, she still hadn’t received a reply.
That was enough to ignite a spark of irritation in her.
…What the hell? How long does it take to do a four-hour hockey practice? Did he just ignore my note?
Cora crossed the quad under the chilly evening breeze and arrived at the old stone dormitory building.
She stepped through the arched entrance marked with a faded bronze sign that read Liberty Hall, and the scent of old carpet hit her nose.
The dorm looked grand and gothic from the outside, but inside it was positively antique.
The wooden doors were chipped, the hallway lit by flickering orange bulbs, and the air smelled faintly of mac and cheese.
She unlocked her door and stepped inside, the familiar silence wrapping around her.
Cora’s side of the room was always empty, just like usual.
Her roommate, Anita, was the spoiled daughter of an Indian billionaire.
After their big fight, Anita hadn’t slept in the room for weeks.
Anita was rude, entitled, and annoyingly classist.
Born into Indian upper-crust society, she had never lifted a finger to help anyone, so the princess mentality was hardwired into her bones.
There was no way she would show her roommate any respect.
Cora tolerated her invading her space and casually using her things.
But the way Anita left her speakerphone blasting at all hours while she called someone in Mumbai or Delhi was completely intolerable.
Anita would spend the entire night on FaceTime with her family back home.
One day, fed up, Cora finally snapped.
“Anita, it’s three in the morning. People are trying to sleep, you know? If you’re going to call, go somewhere else.”
“If it’s too loud, then you leave. Why do I need your permission to call my own family? And who do you think you are, living here for free? I’ve been smelling that strange garlic smell from your nightstand drawer too, you know?”
“What? I don’t even eat garlic. What nonsense is that? I’m the one suffering through your obnoxious perfume that makes me feel like I’m shopping in the first floor of a department store. Got it?”
“Then go live in a single room and pay extra! Oh, and I saw the mail on your desk—looks like you’re on financial aid. Must be tight on cash, huh?”
“Still carrying around those bad habits from your Mumbai days. Tomorrow I’m reporting everything you’ve done and that racist comment you made to the housing office.”
“You’re calling me out for eating kimchi while on scholarship? Go ahead and report me!”
“Proud of yourself for washing your credentials with daddy’s money and even paying for campus grass to get in?”
Anita never got the last word. After the argument, she cried and eventually moved off-campus, even though she kept the dorm contract to avoid violating the mandatory residence rules.
Well, at least I get to enjoy the single room. I’m actually winning here.
She wasn’t sorry they never bonded like the dramatic roommate friendships in movies. After a busy day she was always too exhausted to even open her mouth.
She was taking off her outer layers and tidying her belongings when her pocket phone suddenly vibrated.
She pulled it out and saw a message from an unknown number.
607-555-79XX
“No need for an awkward self-introduction between us. Sorry to be so direct.” 9:17 PM
“And you don’t even have to use the group project excuse. If it were anyone else, I’d make the time. But you? You’d probably say yes instantly.” 9:17 PM
Cora’s heart jumped when she realized it was from Tristan.
Did he actually think she’d pulled some stunt? That was absurd.
“What the— It’s not a prank. I really need this for the group project. Tone down the self-praise.”
“I’ll believe you.”
“Wow…”
She could imagine how many girls had probably slipped him flirtatious messages and he’d dismissed them all.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m actually stalking you, got it?”
The mocking text sent, the typing indicator appeared on screen.
Then it vanished, and the chat went completely silent.
She hadn’t actually taken it seriously, had she?
Annoyed, Cora typed again.
“It’s a joke, obviously.”
Ten minutes passed with no reply.
Did he really ignore it?
She was about to call and explain when the phone buzzed again.