The 18th Shade Of Summer (Fractured Script Series #1)

CHAPTER 02

The fan in the corner kept spinning slow and aimless like it didn't really want to be doing its job.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop resting on a stack of books that smelled like dust and old pencil shavings. The professor's voice droned through my earbuds. Something about column reinforcements and stress distribution and none of it really landed. I kept nodding like I was following, but my screen might as well have been blank.

My mind was still stuck on the note I wrote.

"Do you always play at midnight?"

I hadn't thrown it away. I didn't leave it, either. I just folded it in half and slipped it into the front pocket of my hoodie like it was something important. Like it might change something. Like I'd know what to do with it later.

I touched the edge of it through the fabric, tracing the corner with my fingers while pretending to take notes. Instead of writing anything useful, I found myself sketching the outline of a door in the corner of my page, tiny and crooked. I shaded it in with the tip of my pen until the paper tore a little.

Outside the window, the sky looked bruised. A mix of gray and yellow like the sun couldn't make up its mind. I checked the clock. Almost 5 PM. I still had time before work, but I already felt tired.

Class finally ended without any fanfare. The meeting closed, the screen went dark, and the apartment was quiet again.

I sat back and stretched my legs out, hearing my knees pop, then I leaned forward and pulled my hoodie toward me from where it hung on the back of the chair. My fingers slipped into the front pocket, brushing against the paper like I needed to make sure it was still there.

It was. Still folded and waiting.

I didn't know what I expected to happen. Leaving it might feel stupid but not leaving it... that started to feel worse.

I stood up and went to change. Black pants, black jacket, tied my hair, and washed my face.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked the same as always, quiet, unsure, a little too pale under this lighting.

I didn't look like someone who was about to leave a note on a stranger's door. But I guess I was.

I zipped the jacket halfway, stuffed my ID into my pocket, then checked the time again.

5:23 p.m.

The apartment was dim now, just soft light filtering in through the curtains. I didn't bother turning on the main light because there was something about this hour before work. Not evening yet, but already shedding the weight of the day that made me want to keep the atmosphere.

I grabbed my bag, then paused near the door.

My hand found the sticky note again without needing to look. Still warm from sitting in my pocket all afternoon.

I stood there for a few seconds, not moving. Then I opened the door.

The hallway greeted me with the same cool, faintly dusty smell. The lights overhead hummed softly, casting a pale yellow tint on the floors. Everything looked the same. A little too clean.

I turned and faced the door beside mine. 5B. Same as always.

Dark brown paint, slight scratch near the middle, peeled edge where the number hung crooked. Nothing special. Nothing new.

I reached into my pocket and took the note out slowly, like I thought it might fall apart in my hand.

I looked at it one last time.