Chapter 3
Serena's POV
Five years ago, college campus freshman party
The music was deafening, colored lights flashing in the dim room. I clutched a soda and stood against the wall, feeling completely out of place. As a focused pre-med student, these kinds of parties were never my scene.
"Serena, you need to relax!" My best friend Brianna tugged at my arm, "You can't spend your entire life buried in the library."
"I just think it's too loud here." I shouted back, trying to overcome the thundering music.
"This is college life!" Brianna laughed and swayed, "You need to learn to enjoy it."
Then she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone in the corner. I watched the people around me—they all seemed so comfortable, so happy, while I felt like an alien.
Just as I was considering sneaking out, a slurred voice spoke near my ear.
"Hey gorgeous, here alone?"
I turned to see a tall guy swaying toward me. His eyes were glazed, and he reeked of alcohol.
"I'm waiting for a friend." I replied politely, shifting sideways.
"Don't be so cold." He reached out to put his hand on my shoulder, "I'm Jake Morrison, football team. Pretty famous around school—you must've heard of me."
I dodged his hand. "Sorry, I really need to find my friend."
But he blocked my path, moving closer. The alcohol smell made me nauseous, and I began to feel genuinely scared.
"No need to rush off." His voice became slimy, "Let's chat, I'll buy you a drink."
"I don't drink." I tried to go around him, but he blocked me again.
The music was too loud, and though there were many people, everyone was lost in their own world—no one noticed what was happening in the corner.
Damn it!
"Come on, just one drink." His hand reached for me again, this time grabbing my wrist. "I guarantee you'll like it."
"Let go of me!" I struggled hard, but his grip was too strong. During the struggle, my arm hit the wall, and I felt immediate pain.
"Hey, don't get so worked up..." His smile turned lewd.
Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his wrist.
"She said no."
A calm voice spoke. I looked up to see Shawn Mitchell. Even in the dim lighting, he seemed to radiate presence.
"Hey man, we don't have any beef..." The drunk guy tried to break free, but Shawn's grip was iron.
"Now we do." Shawn's voice grew colder. "Let her go. NOW."
The drunk looked at Shawn's broad shoulders and wisely released my wrist. "Whatever, she's not that hot anyway."
"Get lost." Shawn said just one word, but the drunk immediately stumbled away.
Shawn turned to me, his expression softening. "You okay? Let me help you."
I nodded, but found my legs a bit shaky. The encounter had frightened me more than I'd realized, and the current sense of safety almost brought me to tears.
"Thank you." My voice was still trembling, "You're like a real-life superhero."
He smiled. "Just did what needed doing. Let me look at your arm."
Only then did I notice the spot where I'd hit the wall was starting to hurt. Rolling up my sleeve, I saw a scrape on my arm that was bleeding.
"That needs attention." Shawn frowned, "Let me take you to the health center."
"It's not necessary, it's just a small..."
"Wounds need cleaning or they could get infected." He insisted, "I've had first aid training, trust me."
We left the noisy party, the campus at night quiet and fresh. Shawn walked beside me with steady, confident steps, occasionally glancing at my arm with concern.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Serena Taylor, pre-med."
"Pre-med?" Admiration flickered in his eyes, "That's impressive. I'm Shawn Mitchell."
Of course I knew who he was. Shawn Mitchell, star running back, campus legend. But in this moment he had no celebrity attitude—just a gentle guy concerned about my safety.
The nurse on duty at the health center recognized Shawn and immediately arranged a treatment room for us. Shawn skillfully gathered medical supplies and began cleaning my wound.
"This might sting a little." He said softly, flushing the wound with saline.
But I barely felt any pain because his movements were so gentle. Those hands that were so powerful on the football field now touched my skin as lightly as feathers.
"You're very skilled." I observed his focused expression.
"Military training." He explained, "Basic medical knowledge is required. Every soldier has to learn to take care of their buddies."
"You served before?"
"Discharged a year ago, now in college." He carefully applied ointment to my wound, "But I might have to reenlist."
"Why?"
He paused, something complex flickering in his eyes. "Because this country needs people to protect it."
He rebandaged my wound with skilled, careful movements. I noticed he had the most beautiful green eyes, long thick lashes, and would furrow his brow slightly when concentrating.
"All done." He said, "Remember to keep it dry and change the dressing daily. If there are any signs of infection, see a doctor immediately."
"Thank you." I stood up, "Didn't expect the campus star to have skills like this."
He laughed. "Campus star?"
"Running back for the football team, Shawn Mitchell. The whole school knows you."
"But I didn't know you." He looked directly into my eyes, "That's my loss."
I felt my cheeks burning.
We walked out of the treatment room to the parking lot outside the health center. The night breeze was gentle, carrying the scent of flowers.
"Serena," he said suddenly, "I was thinking... maybe we really should see each other again."
My heart raced. "You mean?"
"A date." He said it directly, "If you want to. I'd like to get to know you better."
"I'd like that." The words tumbled out, "Very much."
He pulled out his phone. "Can I get your number?"
We exchanged contact information, and I felt like I was dreaming.
"I'll be in touch." He winked playfully, "Maybe we'll see each other again."
"I'd... love that." I said shyly.
He kept his word. The next afternoon, I received his text inviting me to watch the weekend football game.