The campus courtyard was alive with chatter that afternoon—students sprawled across benches, the air carrying laughter, footsteps, and the faint strum of a guitar from somewhere nearby.
Amara had just settled under a tree, sketchbook balanced on her knees, when a shadow fell over her page.
"You again," she muttered without looking up.
"Careful," Adrian's voice held that familiar tease. "If you keep saying that, people will think you're happy to see me."
She glanced up sharply, ready to fire back—but the sight of him stole her words. He wasn't in a suit or dark sweater today. He wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms that shouldn't have made her pulse skip.
Amara quickly snapped her gaze back to her sketchbook. No. Absolutely not.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" she asked.
"Maybe," he said, lowering himself onto the grass beside her, uninvited as always. "But somehow, I keep ending up here."
She sighed dramatically. "Like a bad cold."
"Cold?" He grinned, leaning closer. "Funny, because most women would call me… dangerously hot."
Amara choked on her laugh before smothering it with a cough. "Wow. The arrogance is terminal."
His smile widened at her slip. "You almost laughed."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"Delusional," she said, flipping a page in her sketchbook.
Adrian tilted his head, eyes narrowing on her work. "You're drawing again."
Her pencil stilled. "So what if I am?"
"You're good," he said simply. No smirk. No teasing. Just honest admiration.
The compliment caught her off guard, stealing the witty retort from her lips. She looked away, trying to ignore the warmth in her chest. "Flattery won't make me like you."
"Who says I want you to like me?" His tone dropped lower, steadier. "Maybe I just want to know you."
That single line—soft, disarming—left Amara momentarily breathless. She hated how it sounded less like a line and more like a truth.
She quickly snapped her sketchbook shut. "You and I… we're from completely different worlds. You're—" she gestured vaguely at his confident posture, his effortless charm, his perfectly-rolled sleeves—"all… that. And I'm just me."
Adrian studied her, his smile fading into something unreadable. "Different worlds collide all the time, Amara. Sometimes, that's when the most extraordinary stories are written."
Her heart betrayed her with a wild thump. "You talk too much."
"And you feel too much," he countered softly.
Her breath hitched. She scrambled to her feet, desperate to escape the fire in his gaze. "Stay out of my world, Adrian."
But as she hurried away, she couldn't silence the thought burning in the back of her mind—
What if I don't want him to?