Chapter 13
The summers at the University of Florida dragged on endlessly, wrapped in relentless heat.
I ran into Caspian again during the summer after my sophomore year.
I was teaching college prep classes upstairs at a tutoring center, while he worked below as an apprentice at an auto repair shop, doing odd jobs on cars and bikes.
We were aware of each other but never spoke, just passing occasionally in the stairwell.
After all, how close could you really stay to someone you hadn’t seen or spoken to in three years, even if you’d once known each other well?
He spent three and a half hours on buses crossing town just to get near campus.
I’d rented a cheap rental nearby to minimize my commute.
The most stifling night of summer came during a hurricane watch.
I was locking up the tutoring center when I saw the auto shop crew leaving, their laughter and chatter drifting up the stairs.
Caspian had grown taller, more commanding. Even trailing behind the group, he stood out.
He never glanced my way.
By the time I reached the elevators, they’d all gone, leaving the stairwell empty.
Maybe a simple “hello” wouldn’t have hurt?
We were, after all, old classmates.
I headed downstairs, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.
The night before the hurricane was unnaturally still, without a drop of rain.
The sky, usually pitch black, had turned an otherworldly pink, like a violent watercolor.
Caspian stood there in a loose black hoodie, bangs falling across his forehead, partially hiding his eyes. He looked vulnerable, and in the dim porch light, his dark eyes were clear, reflecting that summer–night essence.
10:21
The Ice Prince’s Love Prescription: I’m Your Remedy to Forget Your Ex
11.2%
Chapter 13
He looked like a lost puppy.
“Senior, they’ve stopped the buses,” he said, sounding resigned.
That night, on impulse, I brought him to my tiny eight–hundred–dollar rental.
The room was laughably cramped, the bed barely more than a mattress.
Years later, as he stood on the podium at the F1 Drivers‘ Championship ceremony, lifting the trophy as a celebrated racing prodigy, I sat in that same run–down room, eating a cold sandwich.
My first thought was of how he’d been too big for my small bed that first night, all of eighteen years
old.
I never understood why the media painted him as a rebellious hotshot, all talent and no fear.
In my memory, that summer, Caspian was always dutiful, well–mannered, and quiet.
He did all the housework, cooked every meal, and never stopped calling me “senior.”
It was only in bed that his mischievous side emerged, his husky voice a low murmur as he savored my name: ‘Daisy‘. Pushing limits in ways I couldn’t resist, ignoring my halfhearted protests.
Later, I realized his real talent had been in the acting.
And that auto repair shop downstairs? Just a front. He was never really a mechanic’s apprentice.
That three–and–a–half–hour bus ride was just for the chance to see me, again and again.
Just to ensure I got home safely.
One trip became a thousand more.
