hallway, carrying her books and searching for her next lecture hall. In a corner, away from the crowd, Isak sat on a wooden bench under the tree, quietly watching her.
No words were needed; every glance was enough to make her heart flutter. She would smile subtly whenever their eyes met, feeling a warm, shy heat spread across her cheeks.
As for Isak, he tried to appear natural, but his heart raced every time she walked by. He scribbled notes in his notebook, yet he couldn't focus because everything around him seemed to vanish except Isabelle.
In class, they often sat in the same lecture hall, usually apart, but every time Isabelle glanced at Isak, it felt as if time had stopped. Even a fleeting moment, just their eyes meeting, was enough to fill her day with happiness.
In the library, while choosing books, Isak discovered that Isabelle loved romantic novels. He decided to place a small book on the table where she sat, without daring to approach her. When Isabelle noticed the book, a small smile appeared on her face, as if she understood the silent message: "I know you more than you think."
Their love was quiet here, shy, like a gentle breeze passing through the university corridors—a love from afar, full of respect and curiosity, waiting for the moment when one of them would dare to come closer.
Sometimes, when the campus was quiet, they would pass each other in the corridors, both pretending to be absorbed in their own world, yet secretly hoping for a lingering glance. A dropped pen, a shared laugh over a lecture topic, or a gentle nod in the cafeteria—all these small moments felt monumental, each one a quiet thread weaving their hearts closer together.
Their love was a gentle, secret rhythm—a quiet breeze drifting through the university corridors. It was tender, respectful, and patient, waiting for the day when one of them would finally take the first step closer