3. Ember In The Canteen

All that attention—from strangers, classmates, even from Judith—was igniting something in Ann she couldn’t yet name: curiosity tangled with irritation. She found herself watching Rex Radford more closely each passing second, noting the smooth swagger of his walk, the quiet confidence in his posture, the way laughter seemed to orbit him wherever he went. And yet the more fascinated she became, the more a low, simmering anger kindled in her chest.

Judith, meanwhile, was relentless. Every occasion felt like her own personal Rex-worship rally.

“Oh my God, Ann, did you see how he smiled? That pants-dropping smirk is lethal!” she’d gush during their morning class, leaning in, eyes sparkling with infatuation.

“Rex has the most amazing jawline—it’s like it was carved by angels!”

“The way he just stands there—it’s intoxicating!”

Ann always scoffed at the flustered expression that would flash across Judith’s face each time someone mentioned him. Each gush reverberated off her nerves like a jab—and increasingly, she found herself snapping inside.

One afternoon, seated across from Judith in the busy canteen, surrounded by the clatter of trays and the hum of student chatter, Ann felt the last of her patience slip free.

“Enough already, Judith!” she burst—loud enough that the other girls around them paused mid-chew and turned. “This craziness has to stop—now. I need to keep what’s left of my mental health intact and you are driving me crazy. All this constant ‘Oh Rex this!’ ‘Oh Rex that!’ is rotting my brain cells. I can’t go brain-dead before I even start living my life. So please for once—just shut up for one fucking minute!”

Silence fell like a dropped curtain. Ann’s nostrils flared as she glared across the table. She forced her chest to hold steady, her hands clenched under the tabletop.

Judith froze, mouth half-open. Their classmates stared, forks in mid-air, spoons suspended above bowls. Ann half-expected someone to ask if she’d lost her mind.

A second dragged by. Then—

Still nothing. Bleak, pin-drop silence. Something about it felt wrong—it wasn’t simply the hush. The atmosphere was wrong for a university canteen. It chilled Ann.

She sneaked a look around. Everyone was staring at her. At them. At her. At her, Ann and her friend. The eyes were pinpoints of attention, sliding over Ann like beams, dissecting what they’d witnessed.

Ann’s pulse pounded in her throat. She swallowed hard, throat dry. “What the—why is it so quiet?” she muttered under her breath. Cheek flushed, she turned to Judith, who sat frozen, tears of guilt and shock shimmering in her eyes.

When Isobel, a nameless girl at the next table, quietly stepped away, Ann realized just how loud her words must have been. She gripped Judith’s hand. “Come on—let’s get out of here,” she whispered. Judith blinked, startled, then clasped Ann’s fingers tight.

They left in a hurry—hot cheeks, banging hearts, guiding each other to safety.

Once they were far enough away, Ann let go. The tension slipped out of her shoulders like steam from a kettle. Her throat felt raw.

“Judith,” she stammered, hoping for an explanation—or just something, anything to show she hadn’t done something catastrophically wrong—“what just happened? Did I—did I embarrass you? Or wait! did Avirina and her crew fuck with me while I didn’t look? What happened in there?”

Judith looked at her friend, eyes wide as saucers. Then she smiled—a crooked, gleeful thing—and squeezed Ann’s hand.

“That was hilarious! I almost died laughing,” she confessed, cheeks flushed. “You… you blasted me—no, you dismissed Rex Radford in front of the whole canteen. So loud everyone heard. I mean, everybody. And now they know you dislike him. No not dislike, you hate him. And that gets everyone curious. See, no one bullies Rex—not really. He’s golden boy right now. But they all saw you tear him down into pieces.”

Ann’s stomach knotted. “I didn’t say I disliked him! I don’t even know him.”

Judith grinned wider. “Maybe you don’t know him—yet—but by the tone you used, everyone now thinks you do. You know what’s funny?” She paused, lowering her voice. “Rex looked at you. With interest. And—get this—Avirina’s gang stared at you with more hatred than usual. That right there? That’s a table-setter. This year’s going to be rough for you—but delicious to watch for me.”

Ann’s shoulders sagged; Judith’s words rang sharp. She felt exposed, under a microscope. She opened her mouth—then closed it, thinking better of replying. She should have left it there. But then—

Out of nowhere, a soft tap landed on her shoulder.

Ann jumped. Heart jackhammering in her chest. She turned around.

There he was.

Rex Radford, exactly as the canteen crowd had seen him: clean, composed, devastatingly handsome. He smiled—just a bend of lips and narrow eyes that were simultaneously kind, amused, and teasing. It knocked the air out of her for a moment.

He extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Rex.”

Her silence stretched. Then his phone-light-moment brilliance smirked across his features. “That was quite a show you put on there. My table was watching.” He tilted his head. “They said you’re… poor, miserable, trying to get attention. That’s one theory. But I disagree.” His smirk winked. “Truth is?” He looked up at her. “You’re… really beautiful. I’d bet there’s a great figure hiding under those baggy clothes.”

He paused, scanning her. Judith teetered on laughter. Ann’s jaw dropped.

The canteen erupted into laughter, full-throated and cruel, mingled with snickers and sharp snorts. They streamed from every direction, and Ann felt flames of humiliation spiral inside, stinging her cheeks.

Before she could react, Judith was on her feet.

“So pretty—until you opened your mouth and spewed nonsense!” she shrieked, voice scrubbed clean of sweetness. “Beautiful? Yeah—beautifully blind. Talk-shit, get called out. Trash spoke trash! You want to degrade her? Go on. But admit it—you’re incompetent at it.”

Her gaze was fierce, almost protective—the same fierce loyalty she’d shown Ann before, for years.

Ann would have laughed—light and incredulous—if the seriousness hadn’t pulsed through her core. She took a breath, stopped time in her chest. Then spoke.

She let her eyes roam across the laughing crowd, regarded them slowly. Then she settled them on Rex.

She dared to smile—no sneer, no scowl, just soft cool composure. She spoke, voice quiet but sharp, measured.

“So you think you know a person from first wit. Bold. You know what’s funny? The people at your table?” She paused, eyes narrowing. “Most of them are nothing but entitled pieces of shit—rich kids playing morality on their parent’s dime.” She halted to let it sink in. Eyes flicked behind her—Rex’s entourage, their laughter falling into silence. “Backstabbers. Wannabes. Cowards who abuse because they can. Drug users masquerading as icons. C*ck-suckers who kiss your ass just to stay near the spotlight. I don’t need to be wrong—look at their faces.”

Across the room, discomfort flashed like lightning. A beat passed. Then Ann went in for the finishing move.

She bowed her head in a mock gesture of respect, and with precise composure, she took Judith’s hand. Together, they walked away—judgment in every step.

Judith burst out laughing after they were ten feet clear—laughter bright and triumphant.

Ann followed, mask restored. Her blood still raced, pulse still pounding with adrenaline.

But she did not look back.

Rex remained where he’d stood—silent, fists curling behind his back, jaw tight with something fierce. His last words, nearly inaudible but still carried on the hush they’d left behind:

“I want to know everything about her—within twenty-four hours.”

By the time they reached a quiet corner of the courtyard, the adrenaline drained like water from a vessel gone flat. Ann sank onto a sun-warmed ledge. Judith leaned beside her, still giggling.

Ann closed her eyes. “Why did I do that?” she whispered. “I know I’m stressed. But that was… vicious.”

Judith sobered. She tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “Because he attacked you first—like he owned the right to judge you. And everyone laughed. It lit something in you.”

Ann rubbed her temples. “I’ve been carrying too much—my past, these lies, pressure to be perfect, expectations. Then people laugh… and I—

She shook her head, voice cracking. “I don’t even know him.”

Judith pulled Ann’s hand. “Yeah—but now he knows you. He—he heard you defend yourself.” She breathed out slow. “That wasn’t bad, Ann. That was power. Remember who you were when you came to this country—with nothing, and a heart full of vengeance.”

Ann opened her eyes. They felt heavy—wiser. She nodded slowly, lips curving in a tight smile.

She whispered. “Maybe… I needed this.”

Judith grinned. “You were magnificent.”

In that moment, they stayed silent. Two women—friend and protector. The college world pulsed around them: sun and grass and distant laughter of students. But none of it quite reached them.

New rules had been drawn. The course had shifted. And an unexpected war had begun.