POV: Nate
Bangkok's morning sun baked the campus grounds, casting golden hues over Chulalongkorn University's sprawling courtyard. The chatter of students echoed off the modern concrete and glass buildings, punctuated by the occasional screech of a motorbike horn in the distance. Nate Chaiyaporn, a third-year business student, strode along the path leading to his classroom, black backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds tucked into his ears. His dark hair, slightly tousled, reflected the sunlight as if intentionally drawing attention—though he barely noticed.
For Nate, mornings were usually routine. Lecture schedules, library sessions, and project deadlines filled his life, and he preferred it that way—orderly, predictable, controlled. But today, something—or rather, someone—pulled his attention in a direction he hadn't anticipated.
Across the courtyard, near the fountain, a first-year student struggled with a notebook that kept slipping from his hands. His uniform looked slightly oversized, sleeves rolled up haphazardly, and he seemed lost in his own little world, scribbling furiously. Nate paused, curious. There was an energy about him—a mixture of innocence and determination—that caught Nate off guard.
Nate's friend, Krit, walked up beside him, breaking his gaze. "Who are you staring at, huh?" Krit's tone was teasing, but his eyes followed Nate's line of sight.
"I… just noticed someone," Nate replied, brushing a hand through his hair, trying to mask the sudden warmth spreading in his chest.
"Someone cute?" Krit smirked knowingly. "Ohhh, a first-year crush already? You barely notice anyone on campus, man."
Nate ignored him, focusing again on the boy by the fountain. The student looked up suddenly, as if sensing the gaze, and their eyes met. Nate froze. Amber eyes, wide and startled, met his dark gaze. The world seemed to shrink around them for a heartbeat. The boy's cheeks were faintly pink from the morning heat—or maybe embarrassment—and he quickly looked back at his notebook.
Nate found himself unconsciously smiling. There was something disarmingly honest about him, something that tugged at a part of Nate he rarely exposed.
The boy—Anan Phongchai—shifted in his seat, and the notebook slipped from the edge of the fountain. Nate's instincts kicked in. In two quick strides, he caught it before it hit the ground.
"Hey," Nate called out, holding the notebook up.
Anan looked up, eyes wide and flustered. "Oh! Thank you! I… I didn't see it fall." His voice was soft, almost breathless.
"You should be more careful," Nate said, handing the notebook over. "It's easy to lose something important in a crowd."
Anan's fingers brushed Nate's as he took it, and the brief contact sent a surprising ripple through both of them. Anan's cheeks deepened in color, and he quickly pulled his hand back. "I'm… I'm Anan," he said, offering a small, shy smile.
"Nate," he replied simply. No need for last names; the exchange itself carried a quiet intimacy.
For a moment, they just stood there, the sounds of the campus fading into the background. Nate noticed the nervous way Anan adjusted his oversized backpack, tugged at his collar, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Everything about him screamed "first-year," yet there was a spark of confidence hiding behind the anxiety that made Nate's chest tighten.
"You're a third-year, right?" Anan asked, trying to fill the silence with words.
"Yes. Business faculty," Nate replied, scanning the area before glancing back at him. "And you're?"
"Also business," Anan said, cheeks still pink. "I just… started this semester." He laughed softly, embarrassed. "I'm kind of lost, honestly."
Nate smiled faintly. "You'll get used to it. Just… pay attention, and don't hesitate to ask for help."
"Thanks… you always seem so… composed. I wish I could be like that," Anan said, a hint of admiration in his voice.
"Composed?" Nate raised an eyebrow. "I'm just… aware. That's all."
Anan tilted his head, considering the response. "Aware… hmm. I like that."
The bell rang suddenly, a shrill reminder of the morning lecture. Students began scattering toward classrooms. Anan hurriedly slung his backpack over one shoulder, accidentally knocking a pen from the side pocket. Nate's reflexes were faster—again. He picked it up and handed it back.
"Thanks… again," Anan murmured. There was a softness in his voice that made Nate's chest ache in a way he didn't expect.
"You'll make it," Nate said, a teasing note creeping into his tone. "Even if you keep dropping things."
Anan laughed, a light, airy sound that made Nate pause. Something about that laugh—genuine, carefree, vulnerable—captivated him completely.
As they walked toward their respective buildings, Nate noticed how Anan's eyes kept flicking toward him. He caught himself thinking about the curve of Anan's smile, the nervous gestures, the way he tilted his head when he was thinking. And, uncomfortably, he realized he wanted to see that smile again.
Anan, meanwhile, hurried to his classroom, clutching the notebook tightly. He couldn't explain why his thoughts kept drifting back to the senior who had caught it, who had dark, calm eyes that seemed to look straight through him. There was something… magnetic, he thought, about Nate Chaiyaporn. Something he wanted, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.
By the time Nate reached his own lecture hall, the encounter was already replaying in his mind. Every flicker of expression, every shy smile, every accidental brush of fingers haunted him. He usually thrived on control, on order, but now he felt… unsettled, drawn, and strangely protective.
Nate sank into his seat, opening his notebook, but his mind wandered. First-year, innocent, clumsy… and somehow, completely captivating. He allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile.
Maybe, just maybe, this semester wouldn't be so predictable after all.
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