Page 13 of Captured Heart

“A little intense for a Wednesday...yet probably still more riveting than my night.”

“Probably.”

She smiles, and it’s so sweet and unsuspecting that I feel another small twinge of guilt. “Have a good night, Alex.”

“Likewise, Katie.”

She waves as she pulls out of the parking bay, thanking me one more time as she drives off. Yep. I called it right. She is in no way prepared for a guy like me.

4. Katelyn

The morning air is crisp, making me pull my jacket tighter as Karmani and I walk to the campus coffee shop, Café Al Mada. It’s my favorite café, and despite Karmani's best efforts to make me try something new, we come here every morning.

It’s already November, and the trees lining the path are turning gold, their leaves scattering across the ground in little bursts of color. The sun is still shining, but there’s a chill in the breeze. It’s a reminder that Berkeley’s fall isn’t all warm pumpkin spice vibes.

The coffee shop is a haven from the cold. As we step inside, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon hits me immediately, cozy and comforting. Students are crammed around tables, laptops open while they clutch onto their cups of coffee for warmth. The baristas are moving with practiced efficiency, calling out orders as steam rises from the machines.

Karmani breezes in like she owns the place, flipping her sleek, jet-black hair over her shoulder. She’s already frantically typing on her phone as we join the line, though I’m not sure which mere mortal has pissed her off this morning. Her jacket, a distressed denim masterpiece, looks like something off a runway, and her hoop earrings glint under the warm lighting.

“They better still have the pumpkin muffins,” she says without looking up. “I’m telling you right now, Kate, if they don’t, I will cause a scene.”

Ah, and the mystery mortal is revealed. I know that tone, and I know exactly who caused this foul mood. It was Zayn. The two of them have this weird hate-hate relationship. He hates her because he thinks she’s fake and full of herself. She hates him because she thinks he’s rude and condescending.

They were allocated as each other’s lab partners last year, and it got so bad Professor Montgomery had to separate them. I’m not complaining, though. I was her new assigned lab partner and we’ve been friends ever since.

“In the mood you’re in, you’d cause a scene even if they had them.”

“True,” she says with zero shame, finally glancing at me. “And you, Miss Iced Coffee All Year Round? Are we feeling adventurous today, or sticking to the usual?”

“I like my usual,” I say, defensively clutching my bag.

“That’s your problem.” She wags a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You’re always playing it safe. Where’s the drama? The excitement?”

“I have enough excitement, thank you. Enzymes and proteins keep me very entertained.”

“Girl, you’re a genius,” she says, and I know what’s coming next. “But let’s be so for real right now. Your life is a literal snoozefest. Who cares about enzymes or proteins or...whatever else? I know I certainly don’t.”

I half-smile because this is exactly why Zayn thinks she’s fake. She pretends she hates all this stuff, constantly saying it’s boring, but she loves it as much as I do; if not more. She dumbs herself down and acts as if she’s failing to fit in with the party crowd.

All the compliments she gets from the football team keep her on a dopamine high, and she’s always looking to get her next fix. Now, I’m not judging. I, too, fell prey to the charms of oneparticular football player, but I at least learned my lesson and moved on.

Karmani, on the other hand, can’t get enough of the lies and incessant drama. She’s constantly seeking their validation. In our freshman year, she point-blank denied that she was even studying biochemistry. She went around telling everyone she was a romance literature student. I didn’t even know that was a legit degree they offered here until she told me about the whole sordid debacle where Zayn publicly called her out in front of all her friends. And so began the feud between the two of them.

“I kinda think you care,” I say, and all I get back is an eye roll.

Now, I may be friends with Karmani, but I am one hundred percent on Zayn’s side on this issue. This degree will allow us to make real change in the world one day, and she takes that for granted. We worked exceptionally hard to get here, and she downplays that for the sake of popularity. It’s silly.

I, for one, could never do that. My purpose is clear. I know exactly why I’m here and what I want to achieve. I owe that to my grandad because if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have chosen this career path.

As a little girl, he used to sit me on his knee and tell me stories about when he was a young biochemist, working on breakthroughs. It all felt like magic to me back then. He had a way of making even the most complex science sound like an adventure.

When I was ten, I spent a summer watching him work on an experiment in his garage-turned-lab. He explained things like protein structures and molecular bonds with a patience that only he had. By the end of that summer, I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

But he got sick when I was sixteen.

Cancer. It crept in like a thief, stealing the light from his eyes and the strength from his hands. Watching him deteriorate waslike watching my whole world crumble. He’d been my hero, my rock, and seeing him weak and frail was more than I could bear.

The worst part was the helplessness. The doctors said there was nothing they could do, and I hated them for it. I hated myself for not being able to help. I was useless to him.

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