He didn't know her name, but he knew she made breathing feel like a luxury tax.
It started with three facts:
She walked past the court around 4:30 p.m.
She had a purple tote with the words "Just Visiting the World" printed on it.
She looked like a tourist in his already chaotic chest.
"Tourism," Joel repeated, slapping a hand on Jericho's back as they walked to the canteen. "One hundred percent sure. I've seen her in the south building. Section 1-T. The girls in that block wear lip gloss during lectures. Very intimidating."
Jericho nodded solemnly. "So she is real."
Gregory chimed in while chewing pancit canton, "Should we alert the authorities? Missing: One brain, last seen inside Jericho's head before girl sighting."
Everyone laughed. Jericho didn't care.
He was already drafting a plan more complicated than any CE major's group project:
Ask around without sounding creepy ✅
Find her full name ✅
Search on Mebook ✅
Craft a smooth, non-desperate message ❌
Easier said than done. Especially when the first person he asked — Mira — responded with, "What's the context? Academic? Romantic? Stalker-ish?"
"It's academic," Jericho lied. "Studying human gravitational effects on tennis footwork."
She squinted. "Is this about Raya May Rivera?"
Jericho blinked. "Raya."
Her name rolled around his mind like a prayer disguised as a whisper.
"That's her?" he asked, trying not to sound like he wanted to marry her by graduation.
Mira nodded. "She's Tourism. First year. Section 1-T. Very quiet. Home-school-home kind of girl. Doesn't go out much. I don't even think she likes athletes."
Jericho whispered, "Challenge accepted."
Later that night, in the dim glow of his desk lamp, surrounded by calculus notes and unopened snack wrappers, he typed it.
Search: Raya May Rivera
There were three profiles. Two with anime PFPs, one with a real photo — same purple tote.
Bingo.
He stared at the "Add Friend" button like it was the red pill in The Matrix.
Then he messaged first.
Jericho (8:42 p.m.):
Hi! Uh, hi. I think we go to the same school. I saw you walk by the court earlier. Sorry if this is random. I just… noticed your tote bag. It's cool. Purple's a great color. And visiting the world is cool too. Okay. That's all. Bye 😅
He stared at the message. Hovered over delete. Hit send instead.
Then he flopped onto his bed and buried his face into a pillow. "I sounded like a tote bag salesman. I hate myself."
Three hours. No reply.
Jericho considered deactivating his account, moving to Iceland, and becoming a fisherman.
But then—
Ping.
Raya (11:53 p.m.):
Hi. That was… unexpected.
But yeah. It's my favorite bag. :)
And yes, we're classmates — by school, at least. You're the guy who missed his serve after looking at me, right?
Jericho stared at the message like it was handwritten by fate.
She remembered. She saw. She replied.
Except…
Wait.
Missed his serve?
He laughed — a short, stunned breath of disbelief.
It wasn't a serve.
It was a return.
A perfect backhand that became perfectly ruined because of her.
She didn't know tennis.
She just… saw him mess up, and thought that was a serve.
Jericho typed:
Jericho (11:55 p.m.):
Hahaha that was actually a return 😅
But fair enough — I still missed because I got distracted.
You… kinda did that.
He hit send.
Then lay back, staring at the screen, heart tapping out a rally of its own.