The first week of classes passed in a blur of orientation talks, campus tours, and overwhelming syllabi. Arielle spent most of her free time sketching on the lawn near the design studios a place that quickly became her favorite escape. It was quiet, green, and always full of inspiration.
One afternoon, while she was carefully outlining the folds of a dress design, a familiar shadow cast over her sketchpad.
"Still drawing masterpieces, I see."
She looked up and smiled. "Ezra."
He sat beside her on the grass without invitation, placing a coffee cup next to her hand. "Caramel macchiato, right? I remembered."
"You remembered my coffee?" she asked, surprised.
He smirked, pushing up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. "I remember a lot of things. Like how you said you design for movement. There's elegance in that."
Arielle blinked. No one had ever spoken about her work like that like it was art, not just fabric and stitching. She cleared her throat. "Thank you."
They talked. About fashion, medicine, their families. Ezra shared how he was training to become a trauma surgeon the kind that saved lives in emergencies. "Precision is everything," he said. "Just like your sketches."
As the days passed, these spontaneous meetings became routine. They'd meet for coffee, walk between classes, share lunch in quiet corners of campus. Arielle felt the weight of her life lighten every time she saw him. And Ezra who was always calm, collected, almost distant started to soften when she was around.
But someone else noticed too.
Tasha.
She was watching.
From across the lawn, from her dorm bed, from behind her phone screen as she scrolled through Arielle's candid shots of "study sessions" with Ezra. At first, she smiled and teased her roommate.
"Oh my god, you guys are like straight out of a K-drama."
But slowly, that smile began to stretch thinner.
Tasha had always been the center of attention bold, stylish, with connections through her rich stepfather's network. She wasn't used to being the second option. Especially not to someone who wore loose hoodies and spent hours drawing instead of shopping.
One night, as they prepped for the Freshman Design Competition, Tasha brought it up.
"You and Ezra seem… close," she said casually, flipping through her Vogue inspiration board.
Arielle, tying up a mannequin in muslin fabric, shrugged. "He's just… someone I really get along with."
"Just friends, huh?"
Arielle smiled, unsure. "Maybe more someday. I don't know. It's not easy to read him."
Tasha said nothing for a moment. Then she forced a giggle. "Well, if he ever breaks your heart, I'm totally here to wipe your tears or steal him, whichever works faster."
Arielle laughed, not noticing the faint steel behind the joke.
That night, while Arielle slept with sketches still clutched in her hand, Tasha sat at her desk, scrolling through Ezra's Instagram watching every comment, every like.
She zoomed in on a photo someone had posted of Ezra and Arielle walking together, their arms brushing.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, then clicked save.
A seed had been planted.
And while Arielle's heart fluttered with hope, Tasha's envy silently took root.