Kai's Point of View
I came to law school for structure.
For clean, clinical logic. Case law. Debate grounded in facts, not feelings. I didn't come here to be assaulted by a walking serotonin explosion wrapped in two meters of hair and chaos.
But life has a twisted sense of humor.
It happened on a Monday—of course. The kind of Monday that drips grey from the sky and dares you to find hope in anything. I had coffee in one hand, contract law notes in the other, and a headache between my eyes thanks to the 8 a.m. lecture on tort reform.
And then—
Yank.
My body jerked forward. Something pulled at my coat like a damn grappling hook.
"What the—?"
"Oh no. Oh no no no! Not again!"
A girl spun around, wide-eyed, a comically oversized white bow bouncing on her head. Her hair—longer than sanity would recommend, thick and jet-black—was tangled around the top button of my coat.
"Don't move," I said sharply.
She froze. Then tilted her head. "Oh my god, you're a person."
Unfortunately.
"I thought I got stuck on a railing again," she explained, smiling like this was normal. "You know, those fancy ones with the spiral details? My hair has a vendetta against metal. Anyway—hi! I'm Sky. Sky Ren. First year, but technically second because I skipped a grade. Or two. Depends on the country."
I blinked. "Do you… want me to untangle you or are you just here to give your autobiography?"
"Oh, right!" she gasped. "Sorry! I just talk when I'm nervous. Or breathing."
Obviously.
I tried to pry her hair free, but she kept shifting—talking a mile a minute, her hands flailing dangerously close to my face.
"You're Kai Ashford, right? You always wear these broody outfits and sit in the corner like a Victorian ghost with a law degree. I mean that as a compliment. Kinda."
"Stop moving," I muttered.
"Right. Sorry. I'm just really bad at standing still. My mom says I came out of the womb talking. Oops—don't pull that strand, that one hurts—"
I gave her a look.
She gave me a smile.
God, she was sunshine on steroids.
Finally, the last knot gave, and she stumbled backward with a little ta-da! gesture like she'd performed a magic trick.
"Crisis averted," she beamed. "Well. For me. Sorry your coat got assaulted. I should really put up a sign—'Caution: hair may attack'."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. What the hell do you even say to that?
She adjusted her bow, smoothed her skirt, and added cheerfully, "See you in criminal procedure, Ghost Boy!"
And just like that, she disappeared down the hallway, skipping—skipping—like we weren't in the middle of a soul-sucking legal institution.
I stared after her.
Sky Ren.
Too loud. Too bright. Too unlawful for 8:42 a.m.
And somehow, already stuck in my head.