FLASHBACK
I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I stepped into the wide campus courtyard. The sun was warm against my skin, and the air buzzed with the chatter of students. Some were laughing, others rushed across the lawn clutching papers like their lives depended on them, while groups stood around in tight circles talking as if they had known each other forever.
It was my first official day as a college student. I had dreamed of this moment for months, but now that it was here, my chest felt tight, my nerves coiled like a fist in my stomach.
My father had insisted that this college would be a good change for us, far from the chaos of the noisy city we had lived in before. I wanted to believe him, to believe that this move was a fresh start. Still, worry gnawed at me. He had been working odd jobs since we arrived, barely scraping enough together, and his gambling habit was a shadow I couldn't quite ignore. I shoved that thought away. I refused to let it ruin this day. This was supposed to be my beginning.
I paused in front of a large map posted near the entrance and frowned. The letters were painfully small, the building names scattered in a way that made no sense. I had been wandering in circles for ten minutes with no luck. A small sigh escaped me.
"Why can't they just make this simple?" I muttered under my breath.
A shadow fell across the board. I turned my head and froze.
A tall young man stood beside me. His shoulders were broad beneath a fitted shirt, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead in a way that seemed both careless and deliberate. His presence shifted the atmosphere immediately. Students walking past lowered their voices, a few quickened their pace, and some even turned their faces away. Whispers rippled through the crowd like a current.
One name caught my ears.
"Nikolai Valenciaga."
I had heard that name during the morning orientation. Even among the seniors, it was spoken with a strange mixture of respect and fear. Stories had spread quickly about him: that no one dared to cross him, that his silence was sharper than anger, that even professors tread carefully when addressing him.
I expected him to ignore me just as he seemed to ignore everyone else. But when I glanced at him, I found his sharp gray eyes already fixed on me. They were cool, steady, and far too observant. Heat crept up the back of my neck. I quickly turned back to the board.
"I can't figure this out," I admitted aloud, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "Do you know where Hall B is?"
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then his voice came, smooth and low but clipped, as though every word was carefully measured. "You are going the wrong way."
I turned to him fully. "And the right way would be?"
His brow lifted slightly, as if my tone had surprised him. I doubted many people on this campus spoke to him so casually. But I wasn't about to cower when all I wanted was directions.
He stepped closer, his hand lifting slowly to point down a tree-lined path. "Straight ahead, then left at the end. You will see the signs if you keep your eyes open."
"Thank you," I said, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. I expected him to leave then, but he didn't. His gaze stayed locked on me, heavy enough to make my stomach twist with awareness.
"You are new," he said finally.
"Yes," I replied. "First year. Vance Cavendish." I offered my name without hesitation.
He gave a faint nod, his expression impossible to read. "Nikolai."
"I know," I said before I could stop myself. His eyes narrowed slightly, and I caught the flicker of calculation there, as though he were trying to figure out what to make of me. I gave a small, polite smile. "People whisper. You must be used to it."
"Does it bother you?" His voice was flat, almost devoid of emotion, but it felt like a test.
"No," I answered firmly. "If people fear you, that's their choice. I asked for directions, and you helped me. That's all I need to know."
For the first time, a change flickered across his face. It wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't that cold mask either. He almost looked… surprised, as if he wasn't used to straightforwardness.
I adjusted the books in my arms and said, "I should go before I'm late. Thank you again, Nikolai."
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. "Cavendish."
I looked back. "Yes?"
"Do not get lost again."
The words were blunt, but the tone carried more weight than simple advice. I gave him a small nod and walked away, my pulse racing faster than before.
As I followed the path he had pointed out, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Yes, he was intimidating, but there had been something else in his eyes. Something layered beneath the coldness, something that stirred my curiosity and made me wonder what he was hiding behind that silence.
Behind me, I knew he was still watching.
Nikolai stood where I had left him, ignoring the whispers around him, the way students avoided his gaze, the way his name seemed to linger in hushed tones. None of it mattered. His attention stayed on the path I had taken.
And for reasons I couldn't begin to understand, the thought of my voice and the way I hadn't flinched under his stare held his focus long after I was gone.