Chapter 1: The Blind Date Switch
The humidity in Singapore had a weight to it, a physical presence that settled on Raghav’s skin the moment he stepped out of the air-conditioned library. It was a cloak woven from equal parts heat, exhaust fumes, and the distant, salty promise of the sea. He followed the river of students flowing towards North Spine Plaza, his fingers tight around the strap of his backpack. The neon signs from the various food stalls were just beginning to bleed their colors into the deepening twilight, casting a sickly, electric glow on the concrete. He could smell it all: the pungent, fermented tang of chwee kueh from Auntie’s stall, the slick sweetness of bubble tea, the underlying musk of a thousand bodies in close proximity.
He’d signed up for the stupid freshman mixer because his hall advisor said it was a good way to “branch out.” Now, standing near the information booth under the harsh fluorescent tube lights, he regretted every life choice that had led him here. The plaza was a chaos of nervous energy. Clusters of students, all in various states of overdressed awkwardness, laughed too loudly or stood in stiff silence. Raghav tugged at the collar of his polo shirt.It was too tight.Everything felt too tight.
A girl with severely straightened hair and a clipboard bounced over to him.“Raghav, right?Electrical Engineering? Your partner is over there.” She pointed a manicured finger towards a girl in a lace top who was already deep in conversation with another guy, her hand resting on his arm.Raghav’s stomach sank. “Uh, I think she’s—”
“Just go introduce yourself!” Clipboard Girl chirped, already spinning away to manage another social casualty.
He stood rooted to the spot, watching his assigned date throw her head back in a laugh at something the other guy said.He knew that laugh. It was the kind you gave someone you were actually interested in. The guy slipped an arm around her waist, possessively, and they melted into the crowd, leaving Raghav alone by the trash bin.
A hot wave of humiliation washed over him.Of course.This was his life. He was the guy you got assigned to, the guy you escaped from at the first opportunity. He stared at his shoes, the worn grey of his sneakers a stark contrast to the polished tiles.Maybe he could just slip away. Go back to his room, watch a hockey match replay, and forget this whole night.“Hey. You look like you just lost a war.”
The voice was clear, melodic, and close.He looked up.
She was Chinese, with shoulder-length black hair that framed a face both sharp and soft. Her eyes were bright with a mixture of amusement and empathy. She wore a loose, flowy blouse in a pale blue, but as she shifted her weight, the fabric settled against the undeniable, full curve of her breasts. Raghav’s brain short-circuited for a second, his gaze snapping back to her face, hoping she hadn’t noticed.She had. A small, knowing smile played on her lips, but it wasn’t cruel.“I’m Yi Ling,” she said. “And I’m currently partner-less. My guy was… a lot.”
“A lot?” Raghav managed, his voice drier than he intended.
“He asked me, within thirty seconds, if I believed in ‘pre-marital harmony’ and if my zodiac sign was compatible with his mother’s.” She rolled her eyes, but the action was more exasperated than angry. “I told him I needed to use the bathroom and never went back. Then I saw you standing here, looking just as emotionally stranded as I felt.So.” She shrugged, the motion causing another tantalizing shift of fabric. “Want to be my blind date instead? I promise I only ask normal questions, like ‘what’s your major’ and ‘do you prefer teh tarik or kopi o’.”
Her directness was a wrecking ball to his shyness. It left no room for his usual awkward stammering.A quiet thrill, sharp and clean, cut through his embarrassment. She was giving him an out, a lifeline, and she was stunning.
“Raghav,” he said, finding a smile.“And teh tarik. Extra pull.”
Yi Ling’s laugh was genuine, a warm, rich sound that seemed to push back the oppressive neon glare of the plaza.“Good answer.So, Raghav.You’re Indian, right? From… India?”
“Singaporean, actually.Second generation.My grandparents are from Tamil Nadu.”
“Cool. I’m local Chinese. HDB heartland kid, Jurong West.” She fell into step beside him as they instinctively moved away from the noisy epicenter of the mixer, finding a marginally quieter corridor between buildings.“So what’s your damage? Why were you standing there like a lost puppy?”
“My assigned date found her actual boyfriend.Or maybe just a better option. It happened kind of fast.”
“Oof.Savage.” She bumped his shoulder lightly with hers.“Their loss. Honestly, this whole forced-fun thing is kind of terrible. You want to get out of here? There’s a prata place just off campus that doesn’t have a soundtrack of desperate flirting.”
The suggestion was so perfect it almost hurt.“Yes.Please. God, yes.”
They walked, the din of the mixer fading into the general hum of campus nightlife—the distant roar of buses, the thump of bass from a passing car, the collective murmur of a thousand other conversations.The awkwardness didn’t vanish, but it transformed. It became a shared space between them, charged with a new kind of potential.
“I’m in Sports Science,” Yi Ling offered, filling the comfortable silence. “I want to do physiotherapy eventually.”
“That’s awesome.I’m EEE. Which is why I probably have the posture of a question mark.”
She looked him over, her gaze appraising but friendly. “You don’t look like a question mark.You look like you play something. You’ve got the build.”
“Hockey.Since secondary school.”
“Ah, that explains it. All that… stamina.” The comment hung in the air, just on the edge of something. She didn’t blush, just watched him, her eyes glinting with playful challenge.Raghav felt his own face grow warm. He’d never been good at this part, the verbal dance. But with her, the usual fear of saying the wrong thing dimmed. “Stamina is important,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could censor them.Yi Ling’s smile deepened. “I bet.”
They crossed a street, leaving the formal campus grounds for the bustling, brightly-lit row of shops that serviced it. The prata shop was a cave of blissful air-conditioning, the air thick with the smell of ghee and frying dough. They slid into a sticky vinyl booth, and over crispy kosong and rich, savory mutton curry, the conversation flowed. They talked about the unreasonable cost of textbooks, the horror of group projects, their mutual hatred of the eight a.m. lecture slot.She was sharp, funny, and unapologetically herself. She didn’t try to downplay her intelligence or her opinions. Raghav found himself talking more than he had in weeks, his words loosened by her easy listening.
As they shared a final square of roti bom, dripping with sugar, a lull settled.The noise of the shop felt far away. Yi Ling traced a pattern in the condensation on her glass. Her loose blouse gaped slightly as she leaned forward, and Raghav caught a glimpse of the soft, inner curve of a breast, the delicate lace edge of her bra.His breath hitched.She looked up, catching his eye. She didn’t jerk back or adjust her top. She just held his gaze, the playful challenge from earlier softening into something more curious, more intimate.
“You’re not like what I expected,” she said quietly.“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. The guys from the mixer, I guess.All talk.Or no talk. You’re just… here.”
“Is that okay?”
“It’s better than okay.”
The bill came.They split it. The walk back to campus was slower, the space between them smaller. Their hands brushed, once, then again, and neither moved away. When they reached the path that split towards his hall and hers, they stopped under a Tembusu tree, its branches casting fragmented shadows from a nearby lamp.
“I had a really good time,” Raghav said, the words feeling inadequate.
“Me too.” Yi Ling bit her lip, then seemed to come to a decision. “Look, I’m not big on games.And I know this is forward. But do you want to… skip the whole ‘see you around’ thing and just come back to my room?We can watch something. Or just talk more. My roommate is at her boyfriend’s for the night.”
The offer landed in his chest like a spark.It was direct, disarming, incredibly attractive. All the old insecurities bubbled up—was he ready, what was expected, what if he was terrible—but they were smothered by the clear, wanting look in her eyes.This was a choice. A real one, not an assignment.He nodded, a slow, sure movement.“Yeah. I’d like that.”
Her smile was radiant.She took his hand, her fingers cool and sure in his. “Good.”
As she led him through the labyrinthine walkways of her hall of residence, the thrill returned, sharper now, mixed with a nervous anticipation that made his heart pound against his ribs. This was really happening. The night, the mixer, the humiliation by the fountain—it had all collapsed and re-formed into this single, winding path to her door.