RYAN'S POV
I had just wrapped up at the media studio where I edited my latest video for our tech club's YouTube channel. The lighting was perfect today, the footage smooth, the transitions clean. It was my best work yet.
The moment I stepped outside, sunlight hit my face like a spotlight. Bright. Clear skies. California really knew how to show off. I glanced down at the matte black tablet in my hand — my latest obsession.
"Thanks to this bad boy," I muttered under my breath, brushing my fingers across the screen like it was made of gold, "editing's been a breeze."
Ever since I upgraded, late nights and system crashes were no longer my nightmare. I finally had control.
"Hey, Ryan!" Ray called out, walking toward me with Jack and James flanking him like sidekicks in a bad rom-com.
"Nothing much," I replied coolly. "Just finished a project."
Being the leader of our video-editing crew meant I pulled more weight than the others. Not that I minded — I preferred the grind. I didn't need distractions.
"That's what you're good at, man. Just work, work, work," Jack said with a smirk, tossing his basketball from one hand to the other.
"Yeah, live a little!" James added, laughing. "You're gonna edit your youth away."
I knew exactly where this was going.
"Let's go out tonight. Group blind date," Jack said, eyes gleaming. "Come on, Ryan. With that cute face of yours, girls will line up."
I rolled my eyes. Girls. That's all they ever thought about. They called it fun; I called it pointless chaos.
"No way," I said sharply, my tone cutting through their excitement like a blade.
Ray, quiet as always, finally spoke up. "You know Ryan doesn't like crowds. Let the man breathe, guys."
Before I could respond, a sweet, overly enthusiastic voice cut in.
"Ryan, there's a delivery for you!"
I turned. One of the cheerleaders — her name escaped me — was practically glowing as she walked over, holding out a clipboard.
I nodded politely. "Thanks." I signed quickly and walked off, pretending not to notice the way she bit her lip and twirled her hair. People always mistook silence for mystery. I just hated small talk.
I unwrapped the package as I walked — some new stylus pens I ordered for drawing mock interfaces. I slipped one out, tested it on my tablet — perfect.
Then it happened.
BAM.
Something — someone — collided into me with the force of a freaking wrecking ball.
My body jolted, and I lost grip.
Time slowed.
My tablet flew out of my hands — spinning — flipping — somersaulting mid-air.
Then—
CRACK.
The sound echoed louder than a gunshot in my ears.
"Nooooo!" I screamed.
I lunged forward and dropped to my knees on the sidewalk. The screen — my beautiful screen — was spiderwebbed, cracked down the middle, the stylus rolling away like a dropped tear.
I could hear footsteps scrambling. A girl's voice. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry—"
I looked up, furious. But the moment our eyes met, the words caught in my throat.
She had big, startled eyes and soft curls bouncing around her face. She wore a white shirt tucked into black jeans, paired with white sneakers — a perfect contrast to the chaos she just caused.
She looked shaken. Like she hadn't meant to run into me at all. Like maybe, something had already shattered her before she shattered my tech.
I held up my broken tablet like a fallen comrade. "You— you just destroyed the only thing that makes sense in my life right now!"
Her eyes widened, blinking like she'd just returned from some deep, invisible place. "I— I didn't mean to, I swear…"
I stood, still clutching my tablet like a wounded animal. My chest rose and fell. Part of me wanted to scream at her again — but something about the pain in her eyes... made me pause.
She wasn't just clumsy. She was heartbroken.
And suddenly, I wasn't just the guy with the broken screen. I was the guy who bumped into something deeper.
Or someone.
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