The lecture hall buzzed with chatter as students filed in, voices bouncing off the walls in uneven echoes. Desks scraped against the floor, laughter carried from one end to the other, and papers shuffled like restless bird's wings.
She slipped in quietly.
Naomi held her books tight against her chest, her head bowed so low it almost seemed like she wanted to vanish between the gaps in the tiles. Her steps were small, careful, almost apologetic-as if even the sound of her shoes might offend someone.
No one turned. No one noticed.
Except him.
From the back row, his gaze locked onto her the moment she crossed the threshold. He didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her—but that didn't matter. The way she carried herself, timid and fragile, had already taken root in him like a spark catching dry grass.
Naomi slid into the farthest corner seat, setting her books down with shaky fingers. She arranged her pens neatly, her movements precise, as if the slightest mistake would call attention to her. She darted quick glances around, making sure no one was watching.
But he was.
He noticed the smallest things—the curve of her fingers as she clutched her pen, the way her hair fell over her face like a curtain, the way her shoulders curled inward as if she were trying to make herself smaller.
She thought she could hide in the crowd.
Not from him. Never from him.
The professor's voice rose at the front of the room, but his words were a blur. For him, there was only Naomi. The delicate bite of her lower lip as she focused, the faint tremor of her hand when she scribbled notes, the soft curve of her wrist when she pushed her hair behind her ear.
When a student's elbow bumped her desk, she startled. Her pen nearly rolled off, and she whispered a hurried, "S-sorry," even though she wasn't at fault. Her
voice was so soft, it was almost drowned by the lecture—but to him, it was clear, sharp, unforgettable.
So timid. So gentle. So breakable.
And he wanted to be the one who kept her from breaking.
The lecture dragged on, but for him it was over the second she entered. She had already given him something no one else had ever offered—her unawareness. Her fragile existence, so easily overlooked by the world, had already been claimed by his eyes.
When class ended, students rushed out, laughing, stretching, shoving. Naomi stayed in her seat, waiting until the room had nearly emptied. Only then did she gather her books, clutching them to her chest again as though they were a shield.
She walked fast. Head down. Always invisible.
But he saw her.
His eyes followed until the door clicked shut behind her. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smile.
She thought she walked alone.She thought she was unseen.
But she was wrong.
From the very first glance, she stopped being just another girl.
She was his to watch.His to follow.His to keep.
And soon enough… she would learn it.