Six weeks later
It was Monday morning, and I was already late.
My class started at 9:00, and it was already 9:05.
I rushed through the hallways, my bag slipping off my shoulder, hair half tied.
When I entered the classroom, thankfully, the professor wasn't there yet.
I let out a deep sigh of relief and quickly sat down, flipping through my notes to revise.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Someone tall walked in, wearing a mask.
For a second, I thought he looked familiar.
He walked straight toward me.
Wait—
No way.
It was him.
Gabriel.
He sat beside me, silent, calm, and strangely composed.
I tried focusing on my notes again, pretending not to notice him.
After the lecture, I hurriedly packed my stuff, but my diary slipped and fell.
Before I could reach it, Gabriel picked it up and handed it to me.
"Thanks," I said softly.
"You can thank me by sending me the notes from this lecture," he said with a small grin.
"Oh, sure," I replied, a little surprised by his tone. "I'll share them with you."
---
Later that day, I was walking toward the library to grab some reference books.
I didn't even realize until halfway there that…
Wait, how was I supposed to send him the notes?
I didn't even have his number.
Should I ask him?
That would be weird… right?
The thought distracted me until I found myself standing in the Romantic Comedy section.
I was scanning the shelf when I felt someone behind me.
I turned — and there he was again.
Gabriel.
He was looking through the books on the opposite shelf. When our eyes met, I smiled.
He smiled back.
"Hey," he said casually, "what are you doing here?"
"Just finding a book for my assignment — something on romantic comedy analysis."
"Oh, I need that one too. Let's do this — you issue it this week, and I'll take it next week," he offered with a kind smile.
I nodded. "Sure, that works."
His tone was calm, his eyes steady — soft brown, warm, and unreadable.
They caught the light in a way that made me forget what I was even looking for.
I had to blink twice to pull myself back to reality.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked, noticing my silence.
"Oh, yeah! Just— a bit tired. I'll get the book and give it to you later.
By the way, how should I share the notes with you?
Do you want a soft copy or a printout?"
He chuckled. "Just take my number and send them over. Thanks, by the way. That's really sweet of you."
I saved his number.
Something about him felt… different.
He didn't try too hard, he didn't flirt — he just was.
And maybe that's what made him so confusing.
---
That evening, I finished my assignments and made a PDF of the lecture notes.
I hesitated for a moment, then finally texted him.
Lizzie: Hey, here are the notes from today's class.
Gabriel: Hey, thanks a lot. Appreciate it. Did you find that book at the library?
Lizzie: Yeah, I did. I'm reading it right now actually.
Gabriel: Nice. You coming tomorrow?
Lizzie: Yeah, I have an assignment submission.
Gabriel: Cool. See you tomorrow, then.
He was just being polite.
That's all.
Right?
I told myself not to think too much — but his messages lingered in my head longer than they should've.
---
The next morning, I reached college two hours early.
The library was half empty — my favorite kind of quiet.
As I was browsing through the shelves in the Linguistics section, I saw him again.
He stood on the other side of the shelf, glancing through books, completely unaware that he had my full attention.
Then he looked up — straight into my eyes.
He smiled.
I smiled back.
He walked around the shelf, his hand in his pocket, wearing a black shirt that somehow made him look even more effortlessly confident.
When he stopped in front of me, the sunlight hit his face just right.
Brown eyes.
Mysterious and soft.
The kind of eyes that made you forget the world for a second.
"Hey," he said, voice calm. "What are you doing?"
"Just wandering around," I replied. "You?"
"Got bored. Thought I'd pass some time here. I love reading when I'm free."
Wait—he likes reading?
What are the odds?
"Oh really? What genre?" I asked, trying not to sound too curious.
"Mostly suspense and thriller. But sometimes… dark romance," he said with a smirk.
Why does he have to like the same genre as me?
"That's interesting. I'm into psychological thrillers and crime," I replied.
"That's cool," he said. "Though I've always thought girls prefer love stories."
I smiled. "Well, that's true — but only because the men in books are way better than the ones in real life."
He laughed softly. "Touché. Anyway, good chat."
He turned and waved goodbye, walking away with that same calm aura that made everything about him feel oddly magnetic.
And I stood there, still smiling like an idiot, realizing that for the first time in a long while—
I wasn't thinking about Tyler.
---