The last class of the day ended with the distant clang of a bell. Students spilled into the hallway like a tide released—chattering, laughing, stretching limbs stiff from hours of sitting. Elle walked with calm, graceful steps through the college corridors, keeping to herself as always, clutching her books lightly against her chest.
Outside, sunlight filtered softly through the branches, and the path that led to the main gate was quieter, the breeze playing gently with her hair.
And that's when he appeared.
Vincent Alden.
Towering, composed, and effortlessly magnetic. A final-year criminology student, he was known across the campus—not for parties or arrogance, but for his sharp mind and impossible charm. He was the kind of man professors admired, boys envied, and girls whispered about. Polished and unreadable. A mystery dressed in black. Son of a renowned surgeon, raised in luxury and discipline, Vincent was all structure and control—until he saw her.
Leaning against a lamppost in the courtyard, his black watch glinting in the sunlight, he hadn't meant to stop. But when he saw her, he did. His gaze locked onto Elle, and something in him stilled.
He couldn't look away.
Her delicate profile. The quiet strength in her steps. That haunting calm in her eyes. She looked like a painting come to life—untouched, distant, and yet terribly alive.
Elle felt it. The weight of someone's gaze. She paused—barely—but didn't look back. Didn't flinch. She continued walking, the breeze catching the hem of her dress.
All around them, his admirers noticed.
"Oh my God, it's Vincent!" "He's looking at that girl—wait, who is she?" "He walked past me earlier and didn't even blink!"
But he ignored them all. Quiet determination drove his steps as he moved forward, the crowd parting around him like water.
She finally glanced back as he neared.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice smooth, low.
Elle stopped at the gate, turning to face him. Her expression calm, unreadable. "Yes?"
"Sorry to stop you like this," he said, tone gentlemanly, respectful, but with something more layered beneath—something sharp. "I saw you earlier. In the corridor."
She blinked once. "I noticed."
He smiled slightly, intrigued. "I'm Vincent Alden."
"I know," she replied.
That earned a soft chuckle from him. "Then may I ask your name?"
"Elle," she said simply.
He repeated it softly. "Elle…" as if tasting it. As if he'd say it again to himself later.
They stood there for a moment, two strangers in a world that had momentarily stilled.
"You're in first year?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Literature?"
"Psychology. But I take literature as an elective."
He smiled. "Explains the silence. You don't talk much, do you?"
"Only when there's something worth saying."
Vincent's smile widened—not smug, but impressed. "I'm usually the one reading people, but you…" His gaze softened. "You're a closed book. And I find that… rare."
Elle tilted her head slightly, studying him. "And you think saying that will open me up?"
"No," he said. "I think I'll just keep reading."
Their exchange didn't last long—brief introductions, polite and distant—but something had begun. A glance too long. A silence that didn't feel empty.
As Elle stepped outside the gate, Vincent remained rooted to the spot, eyes following her retreating form. Even long after she disappeared down the sun-dappled street, he hadn't moved.
That night, in the quiet of her room, Elle lay in bed with the lights off, the ceiling above her bathed in pale moonlight. Her cat curled near her feet. A book rested beside her, forgotten.
Vincent Alden.
She'd heard of him, of course. Everyone had. But she never cared to notice. Until today.
There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her—not predatory, not shallow, but intense. As if he wasn't just looking. He was trying to understand her.
She didn't like being seen. But tonight, it wasn't discomfort she felt.
It was a flutter.
A strange warmth in her chest that refused to fade.
Miles away, Vincent stood at the edge of his large bedroom, staring out through the tall windows at the city lights. His room was clean, almost too tidy—like everything was exactly where it needed to be. Just like him.
But not tonight.
His mind kept circling back. Elle.
She was unlike any girl he'd ever spoken to. She didn't try to impress, didn't giggle or swoon. She didn't care who he was.
And that intrigued him more than he liked to admit.
He leaned his head against the glass, a small smile ghosting his lips.
Who are you, Grey Eyes?
The Next Day
Sunlight streamed through the branches overhead as students bustled into the courtyard. It was only 10 a.m., and already the air was buzzing with the sounds of campus life.
Elle entered through the main gates, her bag slung over one shoulder, her expression composed. But underneath it all, she was more alert today. More aware.
And when she looked up, she saw him.
Vincent.
Leaning casually by the railing outside the library building, a book in hand he clearly wasn't reading. Their eyes met instantly.
She approached slowly, and this time, she was the one to speak first. "Didn't expect to see you here so early."
He gave her that same small, lazy smile. "I could say the same."
She paused beside him, glancing at the book in his hand. "Kafka?"
He raised a brow. "Didn't expect that from you."
"People always expect less," she said.
"I don't," he said sincerely. "Not with you."
She blinked. A little flutter again.
"Walk with me?" he offered.
She hesitated only for a second, then nodded.
As they walked down the quiet path beside the library garden, their steps in sync, Vincent glanced at her. "You always this composed? Or is it just around me?"
She gave a dry look. "You think I act differently for you?"
"I hope you don't," he said with a grin. "Because this version of you—blunt, unbothered, quietly dangerous—it's kind of addictive."
She laughed softly under her breath, and Vincent caught it. The sound. The look in her eyes. The subtle shift in her lips.
Hooked, he realized.
And Elle… for the first time in years, found herself enjoying someone's company. Not pretending. Not faking. Just… being.
She didn't know what was building between them.
But whatever it was—it had begun.