AUTHOR POV
The corridor was almost empty.
The faint echo of hurried footsteps bounced off the walls as she ran, her school shoes squeaking slightly against the polished floor. Her breath came out uneven, shallow and desperate, as if the air itself refused to stay in her lungs.
She clutched her books tightly against her chest, fingers trembling. Her bag hung loosely from her shoulder, slipping every few seconds, but she didn't slow down to fix it. She couldn't.
Not now.
Her heart pounded wildly — from running, from fear, from something she didn't want to name.
The fluorescent lights above blurred as she turned the corner too quickly—
—and slammed straight into something hard.
Or someone.
Her eyes squeezed shut instantly.
She braced herself for the painful impact, for the cold floor meeting her body. Her books slipped from her grip, scattering across the corridor. Her bag fell with a dull thud beside them.
But…
She didn't fall.
She didn't feel the sting of pain she had expected.
Instead, there was warmth.
Strong arms.
Firm hands gripping her waist, steadying her.
After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, she slowly opened her eyes.
And forgot how to breathe.
A face hovered inches from hers.
Beautiful.
Sharp jawline. Smooth skin. A perfectly sculpted nose — slim and defined. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, messy in the most effortless way.
But it was his eyes that stole everything from her.
Dark. Deep. Black like midnight.
Her eyes collided with his.
And for a moment—
Time stopped.
The noisy corridor faded into silence. The world blurred at the edges. It was just them. Just the space between their breaths.
Her heart began pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
Sure he could feel it where her chest was almost pressed against his.
His grip tightened slightly on her waist.
"Careful," he said, his voice low and calm, yet carrying something that sent shivers down her spine.
She realised then how close they were.
Too close.
Her fingers instinctively curled into his blazer.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them looked away.
And in that suspended second, something shifted.
She was still staring at him.
Correction.
She was drowning in his eyes.
Her heart wouldn't calm down. If anything, it beat faster with every passing second. She could feel the warmth of his hands on her waist, steady and firm, like he had no intention of letting her go.
"Are you planning to keep staring," he murmured softly, one eyebrow lifting slightly, "or were you going to say thank you?"
His voice.
Deep. Smooth. Teasing.
Her cheeks burned instantly.
"I—I…" she stuttered, mentally screaming at herself. Say something normal. Say something smart. Say anything.
Instead, her brain completely shut down.
He noticed.
A faint smirk curved his lips.
And that smirk?
Dangerous.
She quickly stepped back, almost losing her balance again, but this time he didn't catch her. His hands slowly dropped from her waist, and suddenly she felt cold.
Empty.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out, bending down quickly to gather her fallen books. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
Clearly.
She reached for one of her notebooks at the same time he did.
Their fingers touched.
Electricity shot up her arm.
She froze.
He didn't pull away immediately.
Instead, his gaze lifted to her face again, softer now. Curious.
"You run like someone's chasing you," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched.
If only he knew.
She quickly pulled her hand back and hugged her books to her chest again, using them as a shield.
"I'm fine," she whispered, even though she clearly wasn't.
He studied her for a moment — really studied her — as if trying to read something behind her eyes.
The hallway suddenly felt too small.
Too quiet.
Footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor, breaking the moment. A few students turned the corner, whispering, staring.
Of course they were staring.
Everyone knew him.
How could they not?
He is a strict mathematics teacher, a billionaire, and the future chairman.
And here she was — the quiet girl who preferred the back seat, currently standing inches away from him like she belonged there.
His jaw tightened slightly when he noticed the attention.
"You should slow down next time," he said, picking up her last book and handing it to her.
Their fingers brushed again.
Intentional this time.
Her heart skipped.
"And you should watch where you're going," she replied before she could stop herself.
Oh.
Oh no.
Did she just—
His eyes darkened.
Not angry.
Amused.
A slow, dangerous smile appeared on his face.
"There it is," he murmured.
"There what?" she asked, confused.
"That fire."
Her breath stopped.
He leaned slightly closer — not enough to touch, but enough for her to feel his presence.
"I think I like it."
And just like that, he stepped back.
The warmth disappeared.
The air felt normal again.
He adjusted his blazer casually, as if he hadn't just completely turned her world upside down.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Her mind blanked.
Why did he want to know?
Why did it matter?
She swallowed. "Why?"
His smile widened slightly.
"Because," he said smoothly, "I'd like to know the name of the girl who ran into me… and didn't fall."
Her heart betrayed her again.
Loud. Fast. Uncontrollable.
She told him.
He repeated it softly, like he was testing how it sounded on his lips.
And somehow…
It felt dangerous.
"See you around," he said before walking past her.
But just before he did—
He leaned close to her ear.
"So next time," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, "try not to run away from me."
And then he was gone.
Leaving her standing there.
Shaking.
Confused.
Her hands were still shaking.
She quickly bent down, finally forcing herself to move. She gathered her scattered books from the cold floor, stacking them against her chest again. Her bag lay a few feet away — she picked it up, dusted it off, and slung it over her shoulder.
Her heart still hadn't calmed down.
What was that?
Who was he?
And why did he look at her like that?
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.
Focus.
It was her first day at this school. She couldn't afford to make a scene. She couldn't afford to draw attention.
Yet somehow… she already had.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked toward her classroom. Each step felt heavier than the last. Her palms were slightly sweaty, her mind replaying every second of that encounter.
His eyes.
His voice.
"Try not to run away from me."
Her heart skipped again.
Stop it.
She reached the classroom door and hesitated for a second before pushing it open.
The chatter inside quieted slightly as she stepped in. Dozens of unfamiliar faces turned toward her. She swallowed nervously, clutching her books tighter.
First day.
New school.
New start.
The classroom suddenly felt too big.
"Excuse me?" she said softly.
And then—
A voice answered from the front of the room.
"Come in."
Her breath stopped.
No.
No way.
Slowly, almost mechanically, her eyes lifted toward the front.
And there he was.
Standing beside the teacher's desk.
Looking perfectly calm.
Perfectly composed.
Like he hadn't just held her in his arms ten minutes ago.
Sharp jawline. Slim nose. Dark hair falling slightly over his forehead.
Those same dark black eyes locked onto hers.
Except this time…
They weren't teasing.
They were authoritative.
Cold.
Professional.
The entire class was silent now.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
The professor.
The man she had just collided with in the corridor—
Was her professor.
Her throat went dry.
"I assume," he said smoothly, his voice now steady and formal, "you're the new transfer student."
Transfer student.
Yes.
That was her.
Today was her first day.
And she had already embarrassed herself in front of the one person she absolutely shouldn't have.
She nodded quickly. "Y-Yes, sir."
Sir.
The word felt strange on her tongue.
A flicker passed through his eyes at that.
Almost unreadable.
He picked up a paper from the desk, glancing at it briefly before looking back at her.
"So," he continued calmly, "welcome to the class."
His gaze lingered just a second too long.
Her heart slammed against her ribs again.
No one else seemed to notice.
But she did.
She noticed everything.
"You may take the empty seat near the window," he said.
She moved quickly, avoiding eye contact with everyone — especially him. She sat down, placing her bag beside her desk, her books neatly arranged in front of her.
Her fingers were still trembling.
She could feel his presence from across the room.
And then—
"Open your textbooks to page 42."
The class obeyed immediately.
She opened hers too, trying desperately to focus on anything other than the fact that the man explaining the lesson…
Was the same one who had whispered in her ear.
She dared to look up.
Big mistake.
He was already looking at her.
Not like a professor looks at a student.
But like someone who knew a secret.
Like someone who remembered exactly how close they had been.
Her stomach flipped.
And as he continued teaching as if nothing had happened—
She realised something terrifying.