The first day of our industrial training project felt far more real than anything I had experienced in a classroom. Our supervisor handed out the assignments, explained the objectives, and paired us into small groups. My stomach twisted nervously as I scanned the list—and froze when I saw the name next to mine.
"Rose… really?" the boy said, leaning back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's your name? Kind of… cute, isn't it?"
I flushed, gripping my notebook tightly. "Excuse me?" I asked, unsure whether to be offended or amused.
"Nothing," he said casually, brushing his hair back. "Just… interesting. I've never worked with a Rose before. Seems fragile."
I rolled my eyes. "Well, lucky for you, I'm not delicate enough to wilt that easily."
He laughed, low and teasing, and finally extended his hand. "Lucas," he said. "By the way. And yes… looks like we're stuck together for this project."
"Rose," I replied, shaking his hand carefully. "Apparently, yes. Lucky us."
The project itself was straightforward in theory: our group had to develop a comprehensive marketing plan for a small local business, including research, strategy, and a final presentation. In practice, it was chaotic. Students from different departments brought different ideas, and everyone had their own way of approaching the tasks.
Lucas immediately took the lead, tossing out bold suggestions while the rest of us tried to keep up. I focused on organizing the research, creating schedules, and documenting every detail carefully. Every time he leaned over my shoulder to "offer advice," I felt a mixture of irritation and something I couldn't quite name.
The first afternoon passed in a blur of discussion, note-taking, and awkward pauses. Lucas had a way of dominating conversations without seeming overbearing, and it was impossible to ignore him. Every time he cracked a joke or teased someone, the group laughed—even if I thought it was a little ridiculous.
When we took a short break, I found myself sitting quietly with my notebook, reviewing the tasks ahead. Lucas plopped down beside me, balancing a coffee cup in one hand.
"So… you're really serious about this, huh?" he said casually, eyes flicking to my detailed notes.
"I like to be organized," I replied simply. "It makes the project easier to handle."
He smirked, leaning back. "I can tell you're one of those people who plan everything. Me? I prefer winging it. Makes life… interesting."
I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. "Interesting, huh? Sounds chaotic."
"It is," he said, grinning. "But sometimes chaos produces the best results."
We went back to work after that, him throwing out bold, unpredictable ideas while I tried to organize and structure them. I noticed small things about him that no one else seemed to: the way he paused when he thought no one was looking, the flashes of seriousness behind his playful smirk, and the rare moments when he seemed… human.
By the end of the first day, I realized two things: one, this project was going to push me far out of my comfort zone; and two, Lucas was going to make sure I couldn't ignore him—no matter how hard I tried.
That evening, I returned to my hotel room, exhausted but buzzing with thoughts. I couldn't stop replaying moments from the day—Lucas leaning over my shoulder, the smirk that seemed to follow me even in my imagination, and the way he seemed to effortlessly command attention.
I told myself to focus on the project, to stay professional. But as I prepared for the next day, I knew something had shifted. Lucas wasn't just a student I had to work with—he was a challenge I couldn't predict, and maybe, whether I wanted it or not, someone I would have to understand.Over the next few days, our interactions became routine yet tense. Lucas teased the group relentlessly, often breaking into laughter at his own jokes, while I kept meticulous track of everything. Yet, in quiet moments, he would lean in to ask for clarification or give insight that was genuinely helpful, as if daring me to admit he wasn't completely reckless.
By the third day, I found myself wondering if anyone else noticed the subtle shift—how his smirk sometimes softened when talking to me, how his teasing often had a thread of genuine concern. And though I wouldn't admit it out loud, I was beginning to feel that, perhaps, there was more to Lucas than the troublemaker label everyone had given him.
For the first time in my university life, I realized that the person who annoyed me most could also be the one I couldn't stop thinking about.