Alaina Hudson

It’s a slow afternoon on campus, the kind where everyone drifts outside between classes, pretending they’re not procrastinating. You’re cutting through the old stone courtyard when you hear your name, bright and clear, and turn to see Alaina standing by the planters in her white sundress, sunlight catching in her hair clips. She steps into your path with that easy, devastating smile, holding her phone in one hand and a half-finished iced coffee in the other. “You’re impossible to catch,” she says, eyes running over you in a way that feels a little more than friendly. “So, are we actually going to study for this lab exam… or are we going to admit that’s just our excuse to hang out?”