They said college was where you found yourself.
Zara Whitmore wasn't interested in being found. Especially not by him.
The first day of campus smelled like new beginnings and expensive perfume. Students flooded the courtyard in loud clusters, dragging suitcases, laughing too hard, pretending they weren't terrified.
Zara adjusted the strap of her tote bag and exhaled slowly.
"New school. New rules. No distractions," she muttered under her breath.
"Zee, you're doing the intense internal monologue thing again," her best friend Lauren whispered beside her.
Zara rolled her eyes. "I'm preparing mentally."
"For what? War?"
"For survival." She said as she walked ahead with her mates.
College wasn't high school. It wasn't small hallways and familiar faces. It was bigger. Sharper. Louder. And Zara hated not being in control.
She had a plan.
Maintain her scholarship. Stay focused. Graduate top of her class. Leave.
No romance. No drama. No stupid heartbreak stories that end in tears and bad grades.
Simple.
Until—
"Move."
The voice wasn't loud.
But it carried. Carried a lot of everything she was avoiding too.
Zara felt it before she fully heard it. Low. Calm. Almost bored.
She turned.
And the world did that annoying slow-motion thing.
He stood a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a phone loosely. Black jacket. White shirt slightly creased. Dark hair falling effortlessly over his forehead like it had been styled by the universe itself.
Adrien Stirling.
She didn't know his name yet.
But she would.
His eyes weren't warm.
They weren't cold either.
They were… detached.
Like he was watching everything but participating in nothing.
"Excuse me?" Zara said, blinking.
"You're blocking the entrance," he replied evenly.
Lauren gasped softly beside her.
Zara stepped aside automatically, then immediately regretted it.
She didn't like the way he didn't look flustered. Didn't look apologetic. Didn't look anything.
He walked past her without another word.
No second glance.
No acknowledgment.
Just indifference.
Zara hated indifference.
"Who does he think he is?" she whispered.
Lauren stared after him. "That's Adrien Stirling."
"And?"
"And his family basically funds half this College."
Zara blinked again. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
She watched his back disappear into the administration building.
Rich.
Of course.
He had that aura. The quiet confidence. The unbothered stride. The kind of boy who never had to ask for anything because the world handed it to him.
Zara straightened her shoulders.
Even better.
She had zero interest in boys like that.
—
The lecture hall was packed.
Zara chose a seat in the second row — close enough to focus, far enough to avoid attention.
She pulled out her notebook, smoothing the page carefully.
This was what mattered.
Not mysterious boys with sharp jawlines.
Not deep voices that lingered.
Focus.
The seat beside her shifted.
She didn't look up immediately.
Big mistake.
A familiar scent — clean, subtle — filled her space.
"Is this seat taken?" the same voice asked.
Zara froze.
Slowly, painfully, she turned her head.
Adrien Stirling.
Of course.
"No," she said tightly.
He sat down.
Too close.
There were dozens of empty seats behind them.
Dozens.
He didn't speak again.
Didn't try to.
Didn't even glance at her.
He just leaned back slightly, arms folded, eyes forward.
Zara felt irrationally annoyed.
Why sit here if you're going to pretend I don't exist?
The professor began speaking, but Zara couldn't focus.
She could feel him there.
Steady. Calm. Composed.
It irritated her.
Halfway through the lecture, the professor asked a question about narrative structure.
Zara's hand went up automatically.
So did his.
The professor smiled. "Yes — you first," he said, pointing at Adrien.
Zara lowered her hand slowly.
Adrien answered smoothly. Clearly. Intelligently.
Too intelligently.
He wasn't just rich-boy-with-attitude.
He was sharp.
When he finished, the professor nodded approvingly.
"Excellent analysis."
Zara felt something spark in her chest.
Competition.
The professor turned. "Anyone else?"
Zara lifted her hand again.
This time, she expanded on the idea. Added depth. Countered one of Adrien's points subtly.
Not aggressively.
Just enough.
When she finished, the professor's eyebrows lifted.
"Very insightful, Miss…?"
"Whitmore."
"Very insightful, Miss Whitmore."
Out of the corner of her eye, she felt it.
Adrien turned his head.
Not fully.
Just slightly.
Studying her.
The smallest hint of interest flickered in his expression.
There it was.
Acknowledgment.
Finally.
After class ended, Zara packed her bag quickly.
She wasn't going to linger.
She stood—
—and nearly collided with him.
Again.
"Careful," he said, steadying her elbow instinctively.
His hand was warm.
Zara pulled away immediately.
"I'm fine."
"I can see that."
She narrowed her eyes. "Do you always sit next to people just to challenge them?"
One brow lifted.
"Do you always assume everything is about you?"
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
He didn't smirk.
Didn't laugh.
But there was something almost amused in his eyes now.
"I sat there because I wanted to," he added calmly.
"And why would you want to do that?"
A beat.
His gaze held hers fully this time.
And for the first time since meeting him—
It wasn't detached.
"It seemed interesting," he said.
Zara's heartbeat betrayed her.
Interesting?
She didn't want to be interesting.
Interesting led to complications.
To distractions.
To feelings.
"Well," she replied coolly, "you were wrong."
She brushed past him before he could answer.
But she didn't miss the way his eyes followed her.
—
Outside, the sky had shifted to soft gold.
Lauren rushed up to her.
"Zee! Why were you talking to Adrien Stirling?"
"I wasn't talking to him."
"You were standing two inches from his face."
"That was accidental."
Lauren grinned wickedly. "Did sparks fly?"
"No."
Maybe.
Zara adjusted her bag again, exhaling slowly.
She wouldn't let this become something.
He was just another student.
Another distraction.
Another chapter she wasn't going to read.
Behind her, footsteps echoed briefly on the pavement.
She didn't turn around.
But she felt it.
That quiet awareness.
That shift.
Like something had started without her permission.
And somewhere behind her, Adrien Stirling watched her walk away — not with indifference this time.
But with curiosity.
And that was far more dangerous.
Because Zara Whitmore had no intention of falling in love.
Not this year.
Not ever.
Unfortunately for her, college had other plans