AN: I own nothing, but I love all you people for liking and following this little pet project. I have no beta, though, so don't judge. Please? *blink blink* This chapter is for SunflowerFran for all the love in the last two chapters. Now, let's see here...

Chapter 2

Fascinating new thing

Get beside me

I want you to love me

- F.N.T. (Semisonic)

-Edward Cullen-

1963 | Start of Fall | Boston

A few days later, I was crossing the Yard when it started raining. I was coming from one end of the campus, on the other side of the dorms. I knew I should have brought an umbrella earlier today, but I was thinking that I probably wouldn't need it since it didn't look like it was going to rain.

However, I turned out to be wrong.

The yard is empty, most of the students having already sought shelter earlier. I was grateful to be wearing my sweatshirt, but it wasn't going to be useful considering how the light drizzle seemed to be turning into a heavier downpour. I run across the yard, ducking my head under my hands, stupidly thinking it might help somehow. I cursed the fact that my dorm was so far from where I was.

Halfway through the yard, I saw a bright yellow umbrella ahead. He must be a freshman considering how small his frame was. I was nearly drenched, and all I saw was the shelter in the middle of the yard. I rushed towards it and quickly ducked underneath, nearly toppling the person holding it.

"I'm sorry," I apologized immediately, wanting to be able to explain. However, my explanation died on my lips as I looked at the startled brown eyes in front of me. Possibly a freshman, but she was definitely not male.

I don't know what made me think she was a boy. She had long, brown hair that curled at the tips around her shoulders. Her wide brown eyes staring back at me were covered with russet lashes that would probably reach her cheekbones if she closed her eyes. Her small pink lips formed an oval, as if she was trying to say something that she was finding difficulty to articulate.

My mouth must have been hanging open for an entire minute before I managed to swallow and clear my throat. She probably isn't the one having difficulty articulating.

"I'm sorry," I muttered again. "I didn't mean to accost you like that."

She narrowed her eyes a little at me, as if trying to place me. Trying to figure out where my existence fit under her bright yellow umbrella.

I cleared my throat again, "I just saw your umbrella and kind of instinctively ducked. I mean no harm, seriously." I added, reassuring her that I do not do this on a normal basis.

A look passes her eyes, like she has finally figured out where to put me, and then she smiles. It was probably the most insane thought, but there was nothing I could focus more on that moment than how she lit up when she smiled. It felt like the small sheltered space we had was suddenly bright and warm.

"It's okay," she answered. "This makes us even now."

Her voice would have placed me under a spell as much as her smile had if her words hadn't confused me. I frowned at her answer, and I saw her smile deepen.

"I guess you wouldn't know, but I almost ran you over a few days ago." She explained.

"Ran me over?" I asked.

Her smile suddenly turned sheepish as she ducked her head a bit. "Harvard Square?"

I wasn't following this conversation, obviously, as I felt my frown deepening.

"Across the Tasty?" She added, looking like she expects me to know. I've been to the Tasty several times, but I don't remember seeing her face there. And her face is something I would definitely remember.

She looked at me, her eyes imploring me to remember, "A Vespa?"

Then I suddenly remembered my near-accident after meeting my family on moving day. My recollection probably reflected on my face as I uttered a small, "Oh." I remember a girl on a motorbike, but I never saw her face. "Is that right?" I said as I recollected the incident.

She managed to look sheepish again, but only for a moment. "I didn't mean to rough you up, but I was late meeting my father at the SoHo." She gave me a once over, as if checking if she had left any injuries after.

"It would probably take more than that to rough me up," I answered, smirking.

She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at me and shrugged. Giving me a look that says it's all over and done with. "So, where are you headed?" She asked.

"To Eliot House," I answered, pointing towards the stone building across the yard.

"I guess I can walk you there so you don't end up getting any more drenched than you already are, then we can call it even." She offered, starting to walk towards my dorm.

I followed instinctively, a smile forming on my lips as I moved to keep up with her. The rain continued to pelt on the small canopy covering our heads, no sign of stopping soon. The sky was gloomy and the earth was damp, but I've never felt more warmed.

"So," I started, as I walked alongside her, noting the sweater she was wearing, "Radcliffe, huh?"

She threw an amused glance towards my own sweatshirt, which was bearing my alma mater's name, and answered, "Yes, Harvard. There's your writing on the wall."

I laughed at her retort, amused by her ability to throw back my own line at me.

"Do you come in another name?" I ask.

She threw me a smirk. "Several," she answered. "None I'd be too eager to share."

"Why is that?"

She stopped walking, right in the middle of the quad, making me halt my steps as she turned to me. "You're an athlete, aren't you?" She said it more as a statement than as a question. Even more interesting was the evident disappointment in her voice as she stated it.

I threw her an amused look. "And that's a mark against me, because?"

She started walking again, "I'm wary about feeding the intellectual ego of an athlete. I'm sure they have powerful muscles, but I can't say they always have personality."

I tried not to smile and frown at the same time from her barb. I wasn't sure if she just complimented my muscles or insulted my ego.

I've been in college the last three years and have been busy with pre-med, but that doesn't mean I've been living like a monk. I've dated girls frequently, but not enough to make me some sort of big man on campus. A lot of them went to Radcliffe. Smart women who were cut from the same background I had. None of them, though, has managed to exemplify the same kind of wit this particular Radcliffe girl was showing me in the last few minutes. It was surprisingly refreshing.

"Do you happen to be majoring in aphorism, or does this come naturally to you?" I asked.

She turned a surprise look at me, "A man who knows the word aphorism," she grinned and turned back to looking at the path ahead, "You must be after my heart."

Her statement caught me off guard, but not in a bad way. Not in a bad way at all.

"It comes naturally, just so you know." She continued, answering my initial question, "however, I do intend to major in Comparative Literature eventually."

I was surprised with her response. She was obviously fresh enough to not need to choose a major. To confirm, I went ahead and asked, "Are you a freshman?"

She nodded and quirked an eyebrow at me, "Moving day, remember?"

"Is there much to do with that?" I asked her, wondering what makes her want something not many people would choose to have a career on. "Comparative Literature, I mean?"

She smiled a little, more to herself than to me, as if she knew that question was going to be asked. "There's not much in terms of a career, if that's what you're asking." She answered, "But there's something about the study of words and how it is used to communicate that I find fascinating."

"Like talking?" I asked, wanting to understand her logic.

"Talking, writing, reading, anything that uses words," she answers. "There's something beautiful about how words can be interpreted in different ways by different cultures. For all that it's used to converse, it's also the cause of miscommunication."

Her words fascinated me as much as her voice did. She talked about it as if she really just feels like she's compelled to. It wasn't an obligation to learn it. Like how some people play for the love of the game, she wanted to learn it for the love of the lesson.

"What about you, Harvard?" She asks.

"What about me?"

"What are you here to learn?"

After hearing her talk about how much one subject fascinates her, I almost felt like mine didn't measure up. "I'm studying to become a doctor."

She lifts a corner of her mouth at me the same time one of her eyebrows raise, "Planning to be a big shot now, aren't we?"

I shrugged, not wanting to elaborate since my passion for my chosen field probably did not match hers. All my life I've planned to become a doctor because it was expected of me to want it. I don't dislike it, but I began to wonder if I would ever hold as much passion for it as she does with her words.

"Eliot House, right?" I heard her say. I looked up to see that we have reached my dorm.

"So here we are," I said. I turned to her intending to thank her for sharing her umbrella with me and taking the time to walk me to my door, but she beat me to speaking.

"I guess we can call it even now, huh?" She said.

I nodded, smiling a little. "Thank you for being so generous with your shelter," I tell her. Even if I still want her to be indebted to me. For a long time, if possible, so I can spend more time walking with her under her bright yellow umbrella.

"No problem," she smiled, shrugging her shoulders as she slowly turned. "I'll see you around, Harvard."

I stood at the door of Eliot House, watching as the bright yellow canopy slowly walked away. And all I could think of was; why did my dorm have to be so close?

| To be continued |

References:

F.N.T. - Great Divide (1996); Semisonic

SoHo - South House; residential house for undergraduates in Radcliffe College before it was merged with the East House and renamed.

Eliot House - residential house for upperclassmen in Harvard. In the 60's, it was known as the "prep" house. Mainly referenced for use in the movie Love Story (1970).

Radcliffe - Est. 1879 as a women's college before it was fully integrated with Harvard in 1977.

AN: Tell me what you think, loves.