The campus looked exactly how it was supposed to.
Wide pathways. Clean glass buildings reflecting a sky that didn't care. Groups of students already forming clusters like they had known each other for years instead of minutes.
Voices overlapped. Laughter came too easily.
It all felt… rehearsed.
I stepped through the gates without slowing down, my gaze moving across everything without truly settling anywhere.
First day.
People liked to give days meaning like that. As if something shifted just because a calendar said so.
Nothing really changes.
Only the setting does.
A faint exhale left me.
Of all places… it had to be this one.
Same college.
Same faces.
Same predictable patterns waiting to repeat themselves in a slightly different environment.
Melisa.
Marcos.
I tilted my head slightly as I walked.
"Convenient," I thought.
Or maybe just… inevitable.
Melisa would cling like she always did. Loud, expressive, exhausting in a way that required no effort from me but still managed to drain something intangible.
And Marcos,
A brief pause in my thoughts.
"He thinks this means something," I realized.
Same college. Same space.
Same access.
People like him always attach meaning to proximity.
As if being closer physically brings them closer emotionally.
It doesn't.
If anything,
It just makes them easier to observe.
I continued walking, my pace steady, unhurried, unaffected by the noise surrounding me.
Students passed by in groups, some already dressed in confidence that wasn't theirs to begin with.
Expensive watches. Branded bags. Loud conversations about nothing important.
I glanced at them briefly.
"These must be the ones," a thought slipped in, quiet and precise.
"Parents who believe money can replace presence."
A faint, almost invisible curve touched my lips.
"They're probably told they're here to build something."
A pause.
"To study. To succeed. To become something respectable."
My gaze drifted over a group laughing too loudly near the entrance.
"But they're not here for that."
Another step forward.
"They're here to use each other."
A beat.
"And call it connection."
Love. Friendship. Loyalty.
Different words.
Same function.
I adjusted my sleeve slightly.
"Not much different from me."
The thought didn't carry guilt.
Or hesitation.
Just clarity.
"Just… more honest."
I reached the classroom door and paused for a fraction of a second before stepping inside.
The room was already filled.
Rows of seats. Conversations overlapping. People turning occasionally, scanning new faces with that same silent curiosity.
Measuring.
Comparing.
Categorizing.
I stepped in without acknowledging any of it.
My eyes moved across the room once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
And then,
They stopped.
Marcos.
Third row.
Near the window.
Of course.
He was already seated, leaning slightly forward, one arm resting on the desk beside him.
And the seat next to him,
Empty.
Saved.
Waiting.
My lips curved faintly.
"There he is."
Right on time.
His head turned as if he felt it.
And then he saw me.
For a moment, everything else in his line of sight seemed to disappear.
He straightened almost instantly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
A reflex.
His expression shifted, subtle, but noticeable.
Recognition.
Then something softer.
"Of course," I thought.
"He's been waiting."
A quiet, internal amusement settled in.
"People in love are predictable."
I let that thought linger for just a second before my expression changed.
Seamlessly.
Effortlessly.
A smile.
Bright.
Light.
The kind that didn't belong to me.
And I lifted my hand, giving him a small wave.
Marcos POV
She smiled.
At me.
For a second, I genuinely thought I imagined it.
Because Lune didn't do that.
Not like that.
Not openly.
Not in a way that looked… effortless.
My mind stalled, trying to catch up with what I had just seen.
"Was that,?"
No.
There's no way.
But she was still looking at me.
Still walking toward me.
And the closer she got, the more real it became.
My chest tightened slightly.
Not uncomfortably.
Just… unexpectedly.
"Okay… don't overthink it," I told myself.
But that was already failing.
Because this wasn't normal.
Nothing about her ever was.
And yet,
She was smiling.
At me.
She stopped in front of my desk.
I was still looking at her.
Still trying to process.
A small movement snapped me out of it,
Her fingers.
A quick snap in front of me.
"Hello?"
Her voice.
Calm. Light. Almost teasing.
"Where did you disappear to?"
I blinked, straightening slightly.
"Huh, no, I–"
That sounded worse than it should have.
I cleared my throat.
"I was just… surprised."
Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Surprised?"
"Yeah," I said, letting out a small breath. "You smiled at me."
The corner of her lips tilted just slightly.
"You're very dramatic."
"I'm serious."
"You're always serious," she replied, dismissive but not harsh. "That's the problem."
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head.
"You're someone who needs to be taken seriously."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is," I admitted. "But it's worth it."
A brief pause.
Her gaze held mine for just a second longer than necessary.
Then she looked away.
"Whatever," she muttered lightly. "You're still annoying."
I smiled slightly.
"I'll take that."
I gestured toward the empty seat beside me.
"Sit."
She glanced at it.
Then at me.
"You saved this?"
"Obviously."
A small pause.
Then, with a half-smirk,
"For you."
She studied me for a second.
Not embarrassed.
Not flustered.
Just… observing.
Like she always did.
"People really expose themselves easily," she thought.
And yet,
She sat down anyway.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like it was her choice.
Not mine.
Which, in a way,
It was.
I leaned back slightly, trying to act normal, even though my thoughts were still slightly off balance.
"You're early," I said.
"I'm always early."
"That's not true."
"It is when it matters."
I glanced at her.
"What makes this matter?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she rested her arm lightly on the desk, gaze drifting toward the front of the room.
Then,
"New environments are… informative."
I frowned slightly.
"Informative?"
"You learn a lot about people," she said calmly. "When they're trying to be someone they're not."
A pause.
"And when they don't realize they're being watched."
Something about the way she said that made me look at her more closely.
There was no humor in it.
No exaggeration.
Just… certainty.
"You always talk like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like you're analyzing everything."
She turned her head slightly, meeting my gaze again.
"I don't talk like that," she said.
A faint pause.
"I think like that."
That… didn't make it better.
If anything, it made it worse.
Or more interesting.
I wasn't sure which.
A small smile touched her lips again.
This time, softer.
Less obvious.
But somehow more real.
And for a moment,
I forgot what I was about to say next.
She leaned back slightly in her seat, her expression returning to that familiar calm.
But her thoughts didn't.
"They fall into place so easily," she noted silently.
"A smile. A glance. A small shift in tone."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the desk.
"And they respond."
A pause.
"Every time."
Her gaze flicked toward Marcos briefly.
Then away.
"This might actually be interesting."
And that thought stayed with her,
long after the room filled,
long after the voices grew louder,
long after the first lecture began.
Because this wasn't just a new beginning.
It was a new environment.
A new set of variables.
A new pattern waiting to be understood.
And she intended,
to understand all of it.
Her smile faded the moment she looked away from him.
Not visibly.
Not in a way anyone would catch.
But internally, it disappeared like it had never existed.
That was the thing about expressions, they were tools. Temporary. Replaceable. Useful only as long as they served a purpose.
My gaze drifted across the room again, slower this time, more deliberate. Faces were already settling into roles, some loud, some observant, some pretending not to care while quietly scanning everyone else for validation. It was almost amusing how quickly people built identities in unfamiliar spaces.
And then,
There she was.
Melisa.
Of course.
Even from across the room, she was impossible to miss.
Dressed like the first day of college was some kind of curated event. Every detail intentional. Hair styled too perfectly, outfit chosen with the kind of effort that wanted to be noticed without admitting it did. She looked less like a student and more like someone arriving at a place where attention was guaranteed.
I tilted my head slightly.
"How exhausting," I thought.
There was something almost tragic about people who needed to be seen that badly.
"They decorate themselves like an invitation."
A pause.
"And then act surprised when people respond."
My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched her move through the rows.
She hadn't seen me yet.
Good.
But then,
Her head turned.
And our eyes met.
A mistake.
Immediate.
I looked away a second too late.
Her expression lit up instantly, like a switch had been flipped.
Of course.
Recognition.
Excitement.
Attachment.
"She's coming here."
A quiet irritation settled in my chest.
"Why did I even look at her?"
I already knew the answer.
Habit.
And habits were dangerous.
Because they invited things you didn't actually want.
I didn't move.
Didn't react.
Just watched from the corner of my eye as she made her way toward me, weaving through people with that same energy, too bright, too eager, too loud for a space that hadn't even settled yet.
Then,
"LUNEEE!"
Her voice cut through the room before she even reached me.
Subtlety had never been her strength.
She stopped right in front of my desk, practically glowing with excitement.
"Oh my God, I can't believe we're actually here," she said, breathless. "Same class, same college, this is insane. It's like we never even left each other."
I looked at her.
Calm.
Unmoved.
"It's been a few weeks," I said flatly.
"That's a long time," she insisted, placing a hand dramatically against her chest. "You don't understand emotional distance."
"I understand distance perfectly."
She laughed like that was a joke.
It wasn't.
Her eyes flickered briefly, taking in everything, my seat, my posture,
And then,
They landed on Marcos.
Recognition sparked almost instantly.
"Oh, wait," she said, leaning slightly forward. "You're Marcos, right?"
He blinked once, caught off guard.
"Yeah,"
"Oh my God, I've heard about you," she cut in, smiling brightly.
A pause.
My gaze shifted slowly toward her.
Internally,
Something sharpened.
"This is why I don't like unnecessary variables."
Marcos, beside me, straightened slightly.
There it was.
Curiosity.
Confusion.
Something else underneath.
"Wait…" he said, almost cautiously. "You've… heard about me?"
For a fraction of a second,
He believed it.
I could see it.
And that,
Was almost disappointing.
Melisa nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware of the shift she had just created.
"Yeah, Lune mentioned,"
"Don't."
My voice cut through her sentence cleanly.
Not loud.
But precise.
Sharp enough to stop her mid-word.
I turned my head slowly, looking directly at her.
My expression didn't change.
But my gaze did.
"Say that again," I said calmly, "and I'll make sure you regret it."
Silence.
Immediate.
The kind that drops without warning.
Melisa blinked, clearly thrown off.
"I–I was just–"
"I answered a question," I said, my tone controlled, almost detached. "Don't turn it into something it wasn't."
A pause.
"Don't exaggerate."
Her lips parted slightly, then closed again.
The excitement in her expression dimmed, just slightly.
Not gone.
But… adjusted.
Beside me, Marcos leaned back a fraction.
The brief illusion, gone.
"Right," he thought.
"That makes more sense."
He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
"I got ahead of myself."
I didn't look at him.
Didn't need to.
I already knew.
Melisa shifted awkwardly for a second before trying to recover, forcing a small laugh.
"Okay… wow," she said lightly. "You're still intense."
"I haven't changed."
"That's obvious," she muttered, half under her breath.
My gaze didn't leave her.
She noticed.
And straightened slightly.
Then,
I exhaled quietly.
"Go find a seat," I said, dismissively. "You're blocking the aisle."
She blinked again.
"Oh, I thought we were sitting together," she said, a slight pout forming.
"No."
The answer came too quickly to be mistaken for anything else.
A pause.
Then, more evenly,
"If you wanted that, you should've been here earlier."
I gestured faintly toward the desk.
"Like he was."
Melisa glanced at Marcos briefly, then back at me.
"Oh," she said slowly. "So that's the system now?"
I didn't respond.
Because it wasn't a system.
It was simply effort.
And she rarely made the kind that mattered.
She smiled again, softer this time.
"Alright," she said. "Noted."
Then, with a small shrug,
"If getting here early gets me closer to you, I'll do it."
I didn't reply.
Didn't acknowledge it.
Just looked away.
That was enough.
She lingered for a second longer, like she expected something else, some reaction, some validation.
When it didn't come,
She left.
Moving toward the back rows this time, her energy slightly quieter, slightly more contained.
Not gone.
Just… redirected.
The room settled again.
Voices lowered.
People shifted into place.
And then,
The bell rang.
Sharp.
Final.
The professor entered moments later, his presence immediately drawing attention to the front.
Conversations died down.
Chairs adjusted.
Pens came out.
Everything fell into order.
Expected.
Structured.
Predictable.
I leaned back slightly in my seat, my gaze drifting forward, but not focusing.
Not on him.
Not on the lecture.
Not on anything that required attention.
Because my attention was already occupied.
Not by people.
But by patterns.
By reactions.
By the way everything unfolded exactly as it always did.
A faint thought settled quietly,
"This is going to be easier than I expected."
And somewhere beside me,
Marcos sat a little straighter than before.
A little more aware.
A little more careful.
Without realizing,
That he had already stepped into something
he didn't fully understand yet.