Oliver Grey sat half-slumped in the back row of the lecture hall, gaze fixed on the smeared window beyond the professor's lectern. It was the last day of his fourth semester, and the clock's slow march toward freedom sounded louder than any final exam. His thin frame seemed to shrink further beneath the worn navy hoodie he habitually drew around his shoulders, as if trying to disappear entirely. Around him, classmates buzzed with plans for summer: road trips, internships, family reunions. Oliver felt no spark of excitement; only the familiar tug of relief that this term was finally over.
Clive Durham, seated a few rows ahead in the same Philosophy of Economics class, had watched Oliver for weeks. From their first group discussion in September, Clive had noticed Oliver's quiet intensity, how he jotted meticulous notes and murmured thoughtful questions when the professor asked for reflections. Clive himself thrived on sparking conversation, peeling back layers of ideas until whatever subject lay bare between him and his interlocutor. So when the professor dismissed the class with a final "Enjoy your break!" Clive rose from his seat with purpose: today, he would bridge the distance.
Oliver packed his slim notebook and pen into his backpack in methodical silence, standing only when the last of his peers had filed out. Clive almost blocked his path as he reached the aisle.
"Hey," Clive said, voice warm and easy. "Grey, right?"
Oliver's breath hitched at being addressed directly; it was so unusual that his own name fell like a whisper on his ears. He turned, meeting Clive's steady gaze, with surprise, his mind already plagued with uncertainty about his peer's intent. "Yes," he murmured.
"I was thinking… we should grab coffee." Clive smiled, as if offering comfort rather than a social invitation. "Celebrate surviving the semester?" He added in an easy and confident tone. Initiating social interactions seemed to come naturally to him.
This invitation didn't seem to carry any compulsion or ulterior agendas either, something that was contrary to what Oliver had been used to; his heart fluttered at the casual confidence. He hesitated. His mind raced, the usual insecurities seemed to whisper themselves in his head. What if Clive regretted this the moment they were alone? What if he saw Oliver for the fragile, empty vessel he felt himself to be? Would it not be better to just avoid the interaction? Yet something in Clive's tone, his genuine and unhurried demeanor prevented Oliver from exercising his usual pattern of evading any social interactions.
"Okay," Oliver said, voice low but firm enough.
They emerged into the late-afternoon light, campus lawns golden where sunlight filtered through budding trees. The hydrangeas by the library steps bloomed in clusters of pale blue, perhaps one of Oliver's few summer memories of the quad. Clive fell into step beside him, backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
"So," Clive began, "you've got big plans for vacation?" His voice carried no hint of prying, only open curiosity.
Oliver shrugged, fingers tightening around his bag straps. "Not really," he admitted. "Most of my family's… scattered around. My folks went their own ways last year. I'll probably stay here, work a part-time shift at the bookstore. Maybe read."
Clive nodded, not flinching at the mention of broken homes and fractured families; the details which Oliver usually tucked away. "The bookstore's quiet," Clive said thoughtfully. "Nice place to decompress."
A faint warmth flickered in Oliver's chest. No judgment. No follow-up questions that felt like spotlights. Clive simply accepted what Oliver offered.
They reached the campus café, a snug space with mismatched chairs and the comforting hum of espresso machines. They found a corner table, and Clive waved at the barista, who already knew his order. Oliver studied the chalkboard menu as if it held secrets. When the barista approached for Oliver's choice, he mumbled, "Black coffee, please."
Clive caught his eye and grinned. "You'll convert to lattes eventually," he teased gently.
Oliver allowed himself a small smile. "Maybe," he conceded.
As they waited, Clive leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You also happen to be a sophomore right? Doing some killer work in seminars, I might add" He tilted his head as he waited for the response to this ice-breaker. Oliver blinked unconsciously, having difficulty processing the fact that his newfound acquaintance not only happened to be in the same year but had also recognised him from the seminars; he couldn't help but feel a tinge of disbelief.
"so, you remember?" Oliver asked, his gaze embodied a suspicious hue, as if he expected Clive's remark to be one of mockery rather than acknowledgment. His cynicism towards the world had only been reinforced with most of his interactions on campus; however, Clive was about to cause him a deviation from that unpleasant convention.
"I do, indeed." Clive's fingers drummed the table, as he continued with his characteristic quiet confidence. "I had been writing a paper on the topic myself; and found your comments in class to be quite insightful. Infact, your presentation was among the few which provided both supportive and contrary data"
That simple acknowledgment felt like sunlight through clouds. Oliver's chest tightened with an unfamiliar rush of pride. No one had praised his ideas without ulterior motives before.
Around this time, their coffees arrived on the usual plastic tray. Clive's latte with a perfect leaf pattern in the foam and Oliver's cup of black so dark it swallowed the light; it was almost an inadvertent analogy of the countenance of each. Clive raised his cup in a silent toast, Oliver mimicked him, and they drank.
They talked about the semester's highlights: a surprise guest lecture on microfinance that had fascinated Clive, a tricky econometrics assignment that had nearly driven Oliver to abandon ship. Clive laughed at Oliver's dry recounting of the spreadsheet nightmares.
Oliver found himself smiling more freely than he had in months. He had been so used to avoiding casual chit-chat and small talk out of fear of judgment or the concerning possibility of him being unable to maintain the facade of "normalcy" that he felt was a requirement to be social; however, in that moment he realised those concerns gnawed at him no longer. Conversing with this acquaintance felt refreshingly effortless, a welcome respite from the strained interactions that often felt like performances.
Outside, the sky deepened to a gentle rose as the sun dipped. Their conversation wound from campus politics to favorite films and then paused comfortably. Clive studied Oliver with an easy attentiveness.
"Hey," he said softly, "do you want to meet again tomorrow? We can hit the mall, maybe somewhere to get out of your hoodie routine."
Oliver's stomach fluttered. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Clive stood, offering his hand to lift Oliver from the chair. "Great. Tomorrow, then."
They stepped back into the warm evening air together. Oliver Grey, who had spent so long camouflaging himself in shadows, realized with a quiet thrill that someone had extended genuine friendship, something he had almost forgotten was possible.
As they parted ways at the gate, vacation spread before them like a blank page. Oliver tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and watched Clive jog off towards the nearby bus stop. For the first time in a long while, he felt a spark of something like hope; and with it, the faint whisper of a different summer.