The morning sunlight poured through the windows, catching the dust particles that lazily floated in the air. I adjusted my bag strap and glanced at the classroom door, taking a deep breath.
First full day. First proper class. Nothing could go wrong… except, of course, the usual chaos that followed me everywhere I went.
I stepped inside, scanning the room with the practiced precision I had honed over years of observing people. Every face, every movement, every posture said something—whether they realized it or not. And oh, I loved to read people.
Most of the seats were already occupied. I frowned slightly. Not many options left. I could have sat up front, but then I'd be too exposed. Middle seats? Too generic. Back row? The corner spot? Perfect. A bit distant from everyone, but not completely isolated.
I dropped my bag and slid into the chair, instantly feeling the familiar thrill of positioning myself just right. Then I glanced around.
And there he was.
At the back, as usual. Calm. Silent.
Unbothered by the rush of students around him. The sunlight caught his hair in a way that made it shine subtly, and I realized—he didn't need to speak to command attention.
I rolled my eyes at myself. Stop staring, Zhyra. It's just a guy.
Except, he wasn't just a guy.
I shook my head, annoyed at my brain for categorizing him like that. I tried to focus on unpacking my notebook, arranging my pens with military precision. But my eyes kept flicking back to him. The stranger.
I took out my phone.
Bella: Morning! Where are you sitting?
Me: Middle row, window spot. Save a seat for yourself if you're still alive.
Bella: Dead already. Just got here. Send help.
I smirked and slid my phone back into my bag. Bella would always overdramatize. She had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel on any given day, and I loved her for it.
The class began slowly trickling in, and I started noting each person's habits like a game. There was the guy who slouched as if the world owed him something. The girl meticulously adjusting her bag every thirty seconds. A pair of freshmen whispering and laughing like they were sharing some inside joke I wasn't invited to.
Then I caught the corner of someone's gaze. From the back, the stranger's eyes flicked briefly in my direction before returning to the window.
Interesting.
I smirked faintly. Finally, a reaction.
The professor entered, a tall man with a kind smile, carrying a stack of papers. "Good morning, class!" he announced.
A chorus of groans, sleepy greetings, and the occasional cough followed. I barely noticed, my attention still partially glued to the back of the room.
As the professor went through attendance, I felt my pulse quicken slightly when I heard it.
"Reagan Matthew Serrano," the calm, measured voice rang out from the back.
I froze mid-note. The name stuck, sharp and precise. He didn't look at me. He didn't even glance around. Just… there, quietly acknowledging his presence.
Fascinating.
Class continued with lectures and notes. I tried—tried—to focus, jotting down everything meticulously. But my mind wandered. I imagined scenarios where fate would finally make us interact. He would probably roll his eyes at me. Or ignore me completely. Either way, I imagined the sparks, the conflict, the small mental games
I was already anticipating.
Break time came, and I stretched, feeling my legs ache from sitting too long.
Bella nudged me, whispering, "So… did you get a better look at the back row?"
I rolled my eyes. "I may have glanced."
"You definitely glanced." She grinned mischievously. "I bet he noticed too."
"Please," I said, flipping my hair. "If he did, I'll pretend I didn't. He can't know I'm actually paying attention."
We walked toward the hallway, dodging clusters of freshmen rushing between classes.
"I swear," Bella whispered, "this semester is going to be chaos. You already know it."
Ismirked. "I thrive in chaos. You just… survive it."
As we rounded the corner, I glimpsed him again. Standing by the lockers, arms crossed, expression unreadable. I paused, pretending to check my phone, studying him subtly. He didn't move, didn't react, didn't even glance my way. Yet somehow, I could feel him observing the space I just vacated.
Curiosity surged, tinged with something I didn't want to admit. Intrigue. Maybe a tiny spark.
We made it to our next class, and the pattern repeated. He was always there—quiet, still, just a presence that made the room feel different. I kept sneaking glances, trying not to appear obvious, though Bella noticed immediately.
"You're obsessed," she said.
"Not obsessed," I muttered, though my pulse betrayed me. "Just… aware."
She rolled her eyes but didn't push further. I was grateful.
Class ended. We filed out slowly. My eyes, inevitably, sought him again. And again, he was there.
But something was different this time. The way he shifted slightly as someone brushed past him… the faint tilt of his head… brief, subtle, and almost imperceptible. It was a detail that only someone paying attention would notice.
I noticed.
Heart beating just a little faster, I turned away, adjusting my bag with exaggerated casualness.
Bella caught my gaze. "You're ridiculous. You like… watching him or what?"
I huffed, walking ahead. "No. I… I just… observe. It's a survival skill."
We laughed, and I tried convincing myself that this was all harmless curiosity. Yet, deep down, I knew that this stranger—the cold, quiet presence at the back—was going to make my semester anything but boring.
As the sun dipped lower in the afternoon sky, casting long shadows across the campus courtyard, I found myself thinking of nothing else. Of the classroom, of the shuffle of students, of the quiet presence that lingered like a shadow in my mind.
Fate had plans, I could feel it. And whether I liked it or not, it was already in motion.
By the time I returned to my dorm that evening, I sat on my bed, scrolling absentmindedly through my phone. Social media, messages, notifications… all meaningless compared to one thought:
Tomorrow, he would be back.
And when that happened, I promised myself, I would be ready.
Ready to observe. Ready to challenge. Ready to… whatever it was that fate wanted to throw at me.
Because one thing was certain: this stranger—cold, mysterious, untouchable—was about to make my freshman year unforgettable.