Beneath Her Smile

The next day, I told myself not to overthink it. It was just a random encounter, a bit of good luck. But then something strange happened: I started seeing Katie everywhere. Not in some creepy, stalkerish way; it was just that, suddenly, we seemed to be orbiting each other. I'd pass her in the hallway, and she'd give me a nod or a quick, "Hey, Jason." Or I'd spot her in the cafeteria, and she'd wave—just a casual little gesture that made my day feel a bit brighter.

It was a slow shift, small things at first. A nod here, a smile there. Every time I ran into her, I'd feel that weird mix of excitement and disbelief, like I was balancing on the edge of something I didn't quite understand. And yet, it felt real.

A few weeks passed, and one day in IT class, the professor announced that we'd be paired up for a semester project. My heart did a weird little skip, even though I knew the odds were slim. Katie probably had her group of friends in the class, her circle, to rely on. I was content to be randomly assigned to someone and get it over with.

But when the professor called out the names, I nearly fell out of my seat.

"Jason Clark and Katie Sommers."

Katie glanced over her shoulder, her smile breaking into a grin when she saw the surprise on my face. She mouthed a quick, "Looks like we're a team!" and I managed a weak thumbs-up, trying not to let my excitement show too much.

After class, she walked over to my desk. "So, it looks like we'll be spending a lot of time together," she said, tilting her head. "Think you can handle it?"

I swallowed, nodding. "As long as you don't mind my sarcasm."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, flashing me that smile that always made my heart do backflips.

We exchanged numbers, and from that day on, things started to change even more. We met up in the library to plan our project, spending hours debating ideas and laughing over coffee that went cold before we'd had a chance to drink it. I was surprised at how easy it was and how natural it felt to hang out with her outside of class. And the more time we spent together, the more I realized that maybe, just maybe, this was real. Maybe Katie wasn't just the girl I admired from afar. She was quickly becoming someone I could call a friend.

We started texting about the project at first, with little updates and reminders. But soon enough, our conversations drifted into other things—memes, random jokes, complaints about our professors. I'd find myself laughing at her messages late at night, our conversations stretching on longer than they should.

Before I knew it, we were grabbing coffee before class, sharing quiet moments in the library, and even hanging out on weekends. It was all so subtle, like a friendship unfolding in slow motion, each moment building on the last until it felt like she was a constant in my life. And the more I got to know her, the more she felt like an actual friend—not some dream, not just the "perfect girl" everyone else saw. Katie was real. Funny, sarcastic, a bit weird in ways I hadn't expected, but in the best possible way.

Of course, there was still that tiny voice in the back of my mind, reminding me that this was probably temporary and that I was still, at my core, the invisible guy in the background. But every time I thought that she'd laugh at one of my jokes or send me some dumb meme out of nowhere, the voice would fade a little more.

I didn't dare hope for anything beyond friendship. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was stepping out of the background and into something real.

As the weeks passed, Katie and I started hanging out more, both with our friends and with each other. Our IT project gave us an excuse to meet up, but it quickly became more than just group study sessions or library meet-ups. We fell into this natural rhythm, talking about everything from classes to dumb jokes to random things we'd noticed around campus. There were days when I'd find her waiting for me after class, or she'd text me to meet up at the coffee shop, where we'd huddle over lattes and talk until we lost track of time.

Sitting together in class became our unspoken routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I'd slip into my usual seat, and without fail, she'd plop down beside me, nudging me with an exaggerated grin as if to say, Aren't you lucky to have me as a seatmate? And honestly, I was. Katie had a way of bringing out this different side of me, the sarcastic, slightly more confident version of Jason that I hadn't even realized was lurking beneath the surface. The more we talked, the more that self-deprecating wall I'd built around myself started to crumble.

In between classes, we'd grab lunch together or hang out on the quad, talking about everything from our shared love of trashy horror movies to the upcoming campus events. Katie knew everyone—she'd wave to passing students and exchange quick hellos with people in different majors and year groups. And slowly, thanks to her, I started becoming less of the invisible guy I'd always been. It was like her energy was contagious, pulling me out of my shell little by little.

On Friday, Katie invited me out with her group of friends. I hadn't met them before, aside from the occasional "hey" or nod as we passed on campus. Her friends were like her: outgoing and funny, with this casual confidence that made me feel both intimidated and oddly comfortable. Brad and Liam tagged along too, and it turned into one of those nights that felt both random and perfect, the kind you don't plan but just sort of happens. We ended up at a small bar off-campus, the kind with sticky floors and dim lighting, where everyone yelled over the music just to be heard.

We crowded around a table, Katie squeezing in beside me, and I quickly realized her friends had the same easy-going attitude she did. There was Megan, her best friend, who kept teasing Katie about her "taste" in study partners, giving me this knowing smirk that made me blush harder than I'd care to admit. Then there was Jake, who was in the same program as Katie and seemed more interested in his drink than the conversation but would throw in a sarcastic comment every so often that left us all laughing.

The night blurred together—the kind of chaos that's hard to remember exactly, but I recall feeling like I was exactly where I belonged. At one point, Katie dragged me to the dance floor, ignoring my protests about not being a dancer. She laughed, her hands moving along with the beat, and, reluctantly, I joined in, swaying along in my awkward, "just trying not to embarrass myself" way. But with her laughing beside me, I couldn't help but relax a little. Just a little.

After a while, I found myself back at the table, catching my breath as Katie went off with Megan to grab more drinks. Brad and Liam sat across from me, each with this smirk that I knew meant trouble.

"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Brad leaned in, his grin widening. "You and Katie. I mean, I knew you had a thing for her, but this? Didn't expect it to go somewhere."

"Whoa, whoa, there's no 'thing,'" I said quickly, shaking my head. "We're just friends. Project partners."

"Right," Liam said, drawing out the word. "Just 'project partners' who hang out all the time and who she drags onto the dance floor. Nothing to see here."

I rolled my eyes, but their words stuck with me. Because, yeah, maybe I was catching feelings. I mean, how could I not? Katie was everything I wasn't—confident, popular, effortlessly charming. But I reminded myself that we were friends. She had a million other people in her orbit, people who probably understood her better, who were way more... her type, if that was even a thing.

But the thing was, she kept inviting me to things, kept texting me at random hours with "meet me in ten minutes for coffee" or "movie night, my dorm, you bring the popcorn." Soon enough, it wasn't just my friends or her friends—it was all of us, this weird little mix of people, that somehow worked. We'd study together, hang out on the weekends, and sometimes when the weather was nice, we'd all grab takeout and sit on the grass, talking until the sun set and the campus lights flickered on.

Some nights, after hanging out with everyone, Katie and I would linger on campus a bit longer, talking about things that felt a little more personal. She told me about her family, her plans for after graduation, and her weird obsession with astrology (something I poked fun at but secretly found kind of endearing). I'd tell her about my random, half-baked dreams, like starting my own tech company, or how I sometimes felt like college was just this endless loop, the same people, the same routines, day after day.

And she listened. Not just nodded politely or brushed me off, but listened, asking questions and encouraging me in ways that felt real. It was like, with her, I was more than just the "NPC" guy my friends had pegged me as. I was... someone, someone who mattered.

One day, after class, she pulled me aside, grinning in a way that meant she had a plan. "So, we've been invited to this campus barbecue on Friday. It's just a bunch of students grilling questionable food and hanging out on the lawn, but it's a tradition, and you're coming with."

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Am I now? Do I have a choice in this?"

"Nope," she replied, tugging my arm. "It's non-negotiable. Besides, you can't spend another Friday night cooped up in your dorm."

So that Friday, I found myself in the middle of the quad, a paper plate loaded with slightly burnt burgers and half-melted cheese, surrounded by Katie and her friends, Brad and Liam somehow fitting in like they'd been part of this group forever. The night was filled with laughter, games, and the kind of chaos that only comes when a bunch of college students are let loose with a barbecue and a playlist full of throwback hits.

Katie and I ended up sitting together on the edge of the grass, watching the others play some impromptu game of soccer with a plastic pumpkin (don't ask me how that happened). She nudged my shoulder, her smile softer than usual.

"See? Fun, right?" She said, her tone teasing but warm.

I looked around, feeling the warmth of the evening settle over me. "Yeah," I admitted, "it is. Thanks for, you know, making me a part of it."

She gave me a nudge. "Jason, you've always been a part of it. You just needed a little push, that's all."

And at that moment, with her beside me, the sounds of laughter and shouts filling the air, I felt something shift. It was subtle, just a quiet, unspoken understanding between us. I wasn't just the background guy anymore, the invisible NPC everyone overlooked. With Katie, I felt like I was starting to live out my own story, not just tagging along in someone else's.

After that night, things became even more natural. She'd show up at my dorm unannounced, sometimes dragging me out of whatever I was doing to go "do something fun." We started texting about everything—assignments, plans, random thoughts that popped into our heads at two in the morning. She became the first person I wanted to talk to when something weird or funny happened—the person I looked for in a crowded room.

One evening, we were at the library, supposedly working on our IT project, though it had quickly devolved into trading memes and trying not to get shushed by the librarian. Katie was typing on her laptop, lost in concentration, and I found myself watching her, wondering how this had happened. How I'd gone from being just another face in the crowd to sitting beside Katie Sommers, sharing these moments that felt so effortless, so natural.

Maybe it was the way she made me feel like I belonged. Or maybe it was just that, for the first time in a long time, I felt like more than just a side character in someone else's life. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe, just Maybe I was falling for her.