Day 3: Kailani (Maybe the Comp Sci Building?)

You wake up already feeling like you’ve wasted the day.

It’s not the time—it’s barely 9 a.m.—it’s the directionless, grinding realization that you have no idea what you’re doing, and everything you’ve tried so far has come up empty. You’re not chasing a lead anymore. You’re wandering through fog, hoping Kailani just materializes in front of you and says, “Sure, I’d love to fuck some complete stranger on camera, I'm weird like that!”

But sitting around waiting isn’t going to make anything happen. She’s a Computer Science major. That’s something. So you drag yourself back across campus and head for the only place that offers even the ghost of a lead.

The CS wing of the academic building hums with keyboards and bad lighting. The kind of place that smells faintly of vending machine coffee and ambition. Most of the classrooms are either empty or sealed behind small windows and half-drawn blinds. You drift past them, peering in just long enough to look curious, not creepy. Hopefully.

You stop by the open labs, lean casually on door frames, scan for familiar faces.

Nothing.

A handful of students are zoned in on their work—some pair-programming, others solo with headphones, hunched like gremlins over endless lines of code. A few glance up as you linger too long. You nod like you're supposed to be there. You’re not. And Kailani isn’t even there.

You check the small lounge area—just two couches and a crusty microwave. You swing by the basement lab—dimly lit, humming with hardware, empty of people. No Kailani. No sign she’s been here recently. Just the low buzz of machines and someone’s long-forgotten hoodie slumped over a chair.

You try standing near the entryway for a while, pretending to check something important on your phone, hoping you’ll catch her passing by.

You don’t.

You check the wall of flyers next to the printer—tutor listings, game jam posters, a call for Python study buddies with a scribbled phone number.

Still nothing.

The longer you stand there, the more you start to feel it—the growing weirdness of it all. You're not doing anything wrong, but you're also not doing anything that makes sense. You’re not even sure what you’d say if you did see her. “Hi, I pulled your card. Want to make out for points?”

It’s not just unproductive. It’s embarrassing.

By the time mid-afternoon hits, you’re tired, your stomach’s hollow, and your brain feels like it’s running in circles. You’ve walked the same halls three times now, hoping she’ll magically appear. She doesn’t.

And you still have no plan for tomorrow.

You don’t go back to your dorm. Not yet.

Instead, you head for the one place where doing nothing looks a little more socially acceptable.