Chapter 190
Lily POV
The collision was inevitable.
He backed straight into me with enough force to send me stumbling, my bag flying off my shoulder and its contents scattering across the wet pavement. Books, notebooks, pens, and loose papers spread in a wide arc around us, some of them landing in puddles that immediately began soaking through the paper.
“Oh my God!” the young man exclaimed, spinning around immediately. “I am so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going—here, let me help you p>
He dropped to his knees without regard for his own clothes, frantically gathering my scattered belongings. His friend, a shorter boy with dark hair and glasses, joined him in the rescue effort, both of them chattering apologies as they worked.
“I’m such an idiot,” the tall boy continued, carefully shaking water off my Contemporary Political Theory textbook. “My mom is always telling me I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. She’s going to have a field day when I tell her about this p>
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, crouching down to help retrieve my things. “Really, accidents happen p>
“No, it’s not fine,” he insisted, handing me a soggy notebook with an apologetic grimace. “Look at your notes—they’re completely soaked. Are these for Professor Nathan’s class? I recognize his handwriting style from the margins p>
I glanced at the notebook he was holding—indeed, it contained my carefully written notes from yesterday’s reading assignment, now smeared and barely legible.
“No, it’s not.” I didn’t know a Professor Nathan. And also, I just realized how much work I’d just lost.
“Can I make copies of my notes for you?” the boy offered immediately. “I’m sure I’m in this class too p>
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, accepting my rescued belongings gratefully “But it’s not necessary. I can sort this out p>
“C’mon,” the boy sighed. “Are you angry? You didn’t hurt anything when I crashed into you p>
I was already standing and shouldering my bag, anxious to reach my classroom before the professor arrived. “I’m perfectly fine, and I’m not angry, thank you. And don’t worry about the notes—I can redo them p>
“But I insist,” he called after me as I hurried away. “I feel terrible about this. Let me at least p>
“It’s really okay!” I called back over my shoulder, already half-running toward the Political Science building. “Thank you for helping p>
I could hear him calling something else, but I was too focused on making it to class on time to pay attention. The last thing I needed was to be late again, especially with my academic standing already precarious.
As I rushed through the building’s entrance, shaking droplets of rain from my hair and trying to salvage what remained of my morning, I couldn’t help but wonder if like Kai, that I was cursed.
Because nothing seemed to be working for me and instead, disaster seemed to followe me everywhere lately.
At least this time, no one had been cursed, attacked, or threatened with exile. With everything that had happened to me so far, from my flight from Golden Moon pack until yesterday, a simple collision with an overeager student seemed like salvation.
And now, I would have to redo everything I labored for last night before 2pm today.
By the time I finished from my third lecture of the day—Advanced Social Psychology—I felt my head would explode.
Everything suddenly seemed harder from before I got kidnapped by Lucas. The Professors seemed more serious and it didn’t help that I was way behind plus my emotional state wasn’t at the best state at the moment.
I was trying my best, to maintain a smile the entire day, at least for the sake of my course mates who still had no idea what happened to me.
My Contemporary Political Theory professor had been particularly demanding, assigning a fifteen-page research paper that would require extensive library time I wasn’t sure I had. The subsequent Statistics for Social Sciences lecture had been a bewildering maze of formulas and probability theories that made my head spin. And Dr. Martinez’s psychology class had delved into trauma responses and behavioral modifications with an irony that wasn’t lost on me given my recent experiences.
You’d think after such marathon lecture, I would relax but No! After that, I had to go to the administrative block.
Half of my professors still hadn’t uploaded the promised study materials to my student dashboard, which meant personal visits to their offices to collect printed curricula, USB drives containing video tutorials, and additional reading lists that seemed to grow longer with each stop.
Professor Williams from Political Theory handed me a stack of photocopied articles that must have weighed three pounds. Dr. Kumar from Statistics provided a flash drive containing twenty hours of recorded lectures along with practice problem sets. Dr. Martinez offered a collection of case studies on psychological resilience that she insisted would be “particularly relevant” to my situation—a comment that made me wonder exactly how much the faculty knew about my circumstances.
By the time I finished making my rounds, my arms were loaded with a collection of materials, binders, loose papers, storage devices, and textbooks.
I decided I would go to the library to organized everything, since it was quiet and it would give me a chance to think clearly.
More than that, I was hoping to see the elderly librarian who had mentioned knowing my mother. The conversation had been brief but something in her tone had suggested there was more she could tell me about my family’s history.
But as I approached the main circulation desk, I was disappointed to see a different librarian manning the station. This woman was younger, perhaps in her forties.
“Excuse me,” I said, carefully setting down my armload of materials. “Is the other librarian not here today p>
I’d forgotten her name.
The librarian looked up from her computer screen with mild interest. “Mrs. Thompson? I’m afraid she retired last month. I’m her replacement, Mrs. Foster. Is there something I can help you with p>