The air in the university library was thick with the smell of old paper and winter jasmine. Esther, huddled over a massive ancient botany text, felt a prickle of anticipation. It wasn't the book that held her attention; it was the two men who had recently become fixtures in her quiet world.
Samuel, the golden boy of the rugby team, sat across the massive oak table. His presence was all solid warmth—a low hum of kinetic energy. He always smelled faintly of pine and woodsmoke. Esther loved watching the intense focus in his dark eyes as he worked. She knew her crush was obvious, but Samuel only offered her kind, easy smiles. Today, his focus kept breaking, his gaze snapping to the window, his jaw tight. He seemed restless, almost agitated.
Then there was Fortune. He appeared silently at the end of their aisle, standing unnaturally still between the towering bookshelves. Fortune was a paradox—pale, elegant, and always dressed in silk, he brought a chill with him. His scent was sharp, like mint and rain on cold stone. He never looked at Esther, but she always felt the weight of his gaze.
Today, as Samuel shifted restlessly, Fortune moved, gliding closer, his icy eyes fixed on Samuel's tense posture. The air between the two men crackled with a silent, primal hostility that made Esther's breath catch.