“Silvercrest: Week Two”

It was my second week at Silvercrest, and I still found myself questioning how I had managed to endure both the relentless demands of university life and the perpetual nuisance that was Raihan.

Reclining against the headboard, I allowed my thoughts to wander to the people I missed most.

My parents.

The ache settled in my chest with a familiar cruelty.

I remembered the way my mother used to dote on me, treating me with a level of devotion that often bordered on excessive. She fussed over the smallest details, convinced that I was incapable of surviving without her constant supervision.

And my father...

A bittersweet smile ghosted across my lips.

He had been my greatest source of strength, the one person whose presence could dissolve my worries with a single reassuring word. His unwavering support had been the foundation upon which my entire world rested.

My mother would often tease him, claiming she loved me far more than she loved her own husband.

The memory should have made me laugh.

Instead, it shattered something inside me.

Those moments, once so ordinary, had become sacred relics of a life that no longer existed.

Now they lingered only as distant echoes within the confines of my memory—beautiful, untouchable, and painfully out of reach.

My mother had been my confidante, my sanctuary, the person who understood me without explanation.

My father had been my hero, my role model, and the individual I admired beyond measure.

Losing them hadn't merely broken my heart.

It had dismantled an entire part of who I was.

And no matter how desperately I tried to move forward, the void they left behind remained as profound as ever.

With a reluctant sigh, I dragged myself into the bathroom and took a shower before getting dressed for the day. Afterwards, I brewed a cup of coffee and ensured the room was impeccably tidy.

Once everything was in order, I grabbed my bag and headed toward campus. I had barely made it across the residence grounds when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

The screen illuminated.

Aunt Clara.

I paused mid-step, staring at the incoming call before reluctantly answering.

“Hello, Aunt Clara,” I said quietly, my voice carefully restrained, though distant in a way I couldn’t quite conceal. “I’m on my way to campus right now.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Lucas,” she responded, her tone immediately softening with concern. “Have you been taking care of yourself properly?”

I exhaled slowly, adjusting my grip on my bag as I continued walking.

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation, without conviction.

A heavier silence followed, as if she could hear the falseness beneath my words.

“You don’t sound well,” she said gently. “Are you sleeping at all?”

“Yes,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

It was the kind of lie that came too easily now—refined through repetition, sharpened by necessity.

“Lucas…” her voice softened further, laced with quiet worry. “You know you don’t have to carry everything alone, right? I’m still here for you.”

“I’m fine, Aunt Clara,” I said again, my tone more controlled, more detached. “You really don’t need to worry about me.”

Silence stretched between us dense, loaded, suffocating in its own way.

“I should go,” I added, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Lucas,” she called again, urgency creeping into her tone. “Promise me you’re okay.”

Long enough to betray everything I wasn’t saying.

“I promise,” I lied once more.

The call ended.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen.

As the call ended, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and continued walking toward campus, but my thoughts no longer stayed with Aunt Clara.

They drifted uninvited to Raihan.

It was only then it fully registered he hadn't seen him all weekend.

The last time I saw Raihan in the room, he had three guys trailing behind him like restless shadows, their presence clinging to him with an almost unsettling familiarity. They hovered around him shamelessly, laughing too loudly, invading his space as though boundaries simply did not exist in his world.

He, of course, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Raihan carried himself with that same infuriating composure—unbothered, untouchable, as though chaos naturally bent itself around him rather than against him.

By evening, they had all left together, disappearing into whatever reckless plans people like him considered normal.

And after that, he never returned.

I slowed my pace slightly, furrowing my brows.

Someone like him arrogant, careless, insufferably self-assured was also disturbingly nonchalant about his academics, his responsibilities, everything that should have required at least a minimal level of concern.

It didn’t make sense.

Students here fought for grades, for status, for survival in a place like Silvercrest.

But Raihan… he moved like none of it applied to him.

Like consequences were something reserved for other people.

A faint scoff left my lips before I could stop it.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

Yet even as I dismissed it, a thought lingered at the back of my mind uncomfortable and persistent.

People like Raihan didn’t just ignore responsibility without reason.

They either had something to fall back on.......Or something they were running from.

I walked at a measured pace toward the campus gate, my gaze lowered and fixed on my phone, deliberately shutting out the noise of the world around me.

The lecture hall was already half-filled by the time I arrived.

Rows of students filled the tiered seating, their presence a blend of concentration and distraction. Some leaned over annotated notebooks, pens moving in precise, hurried strokes as they revised key points. Others stared down at their phones, half-engaged, scrolling through updates while pretending to listen. A few engaged in hushed exchanges, their whispers weaving through the room like invisible threads of conversation.

At the front stood the lecturer, a composed middle-aged man with a reputation that preceded him. Professor Daniels adjusted his notes with methodical calm, his posture rigid with authority. There was an understated intensity in the way he surveyed the room, as though he could measure attention itself. Beside him, another faculty member—a visiting professor sat quietly, observing with a detached, analytical expression.

I took my seat without drawing attention, settling into the middle rows where anonymity felt safest. Around me, students continued to arrive in waves, filling the remaining seats with the faint scrape of chairs and rustle of bags. The atmosphere gradually shifted from scattered noise to reluctant discipline.

Professor Daniels finally spoke, his voice carrying cleanly across the hall.

“Good morning.”

The response came in uneven murmurs, polite but unenthusiastic.

I lowered my gaze slightly, preparing myself for yet another long academic session, the kind that stretched time into something heavy and unremarkable.

The lecture hall was already settled into a reluctant silence when the door at the back creaked open.

Every head turned.

Raihan stepped in as though time itself had paused for him.

A few students straightened in their seats, others exchanged quiet looks, and even the low hum of the room seemed to falter for a second.

He reached an empty seat a few rows away from mine and dropped into it with effortless indifference, leaning back as though the lecture was an optional inconvenience rather than a requirement.

Professor Daniels speaking on globalization while students treated the class like optional background noise.

I sat midway, pretending to focus.

Liam raised his hand again. “Sir, if globalization is unavoidable, can we at least opt out of the exams?”

I stared at him.

Yes. Please opt out of life too while you’re at it.

Daniels replied flatly, “No.”

A few seats away, Ava and her friend were whispering loudly about “academic burnout” while simultaneously planning a weekend brunch that probably cost more than my entire monthly allowance.

Burnout? You’ve been burned by nothing except decision-making.

Behind them, Noah was typing aggressively on his laptop like he was hacking the Pentagon, but I knew for a fact it was just lecture notes copied word-for-word.

Bro is one copy-paste away from academic excellence.

At the far side, a group of rich students were arguing about whether missing class should be considered a “mental health day” or “personal branding recovery.”

It’s called skipping class. Be serious.

Somewhere near the aisle, someone was openly eating chips like this was a movie theater.

At this point, I’m just waiting for someone to bring popcorn and rate the lecture out of ten.

And then there was the debate group in the corner—talking over each other like the professor was a guest in their podcast.

“No, globalization is literally just economic domination,” one of them insisted.

“Actually, it’s cultural exchange,” another argued.

“Both of you are wrong,” I thought. It’s confusion. That’s what it is.

Professor Daniels sighed again, already defeated by the room.

And at the back,Raihan was silent ,leaning back,watching like it was mildly entertaining.

He looked like someone who had been reluctantly dragged into a lecture hall against his will, as though attendance was more of an obligation than a choice.

Raihan sat leaned back in his seat, composed but completely detached from the academic atmosphere around him. His expression carried that familiar nonchalance calm, unreadable, almost indifferent as if the entire setting was beneath his interest.

He looked like someone waiting for the clock to run out.

Preferably somewhere louder, more chaotic, and far less structured than a lecture hall in New York—somewhere closer to the kind of environment he usually moved in, surrounded by his close circle of friends, constant noise, late-night energy, and a lifestyle that rarely aligned with anything as disciplined as academia.

Here, everything felt too controlled for him. 

Around him, students scribbled notes, debated theories, and struggled to keep pace with Professor Daniels’ lecture.

Raihan did none of that.

After a long lecture, the class finally came to an end, students rising from their seats in scattered waves of relief and exhaustion.

I packed my notes quietly and headed toward the cafeteria, hoping for at least a few minutes of peace before the next wave of chaos.

A sudden impact made me freeze.

A spank on my ass ,followed by a voice behind me.

               "Hey newbie"