Chapter 2

(Paul’s POV)

There are very few things in my life that I would call truly disruptive. Crestfall College, no matter how big or famous, runs on a kind of quiet order. People know their place here. They understand how to keep their distance. They recognize ranks without needing them explained. It’s an environment that rewards being neat and tidy.

And I have always liked neat things.

It makes everything simple. It makes people easy to handle.

That’s why, as I stepped out of the car that morning and straightened my cuff, I already felt that something was not quite right. Not that I could see it. Not right away. But there was a small feeling in the back of my mind, like a detail I had missed but hadn’t forgotten.

It took me a moment to figure it out. 

Louis Walker.

The name just popped into my head, which was annoying. I don’t usually remember people I have no plans to talk to. But his voice—too loud, too open—had stuck with me, refusing to fade away. Then I remembered his face. And then, yesterday. The way he just walked up. His boldness. The confession he made without pausing, without realizing, without the basic sense to back away when faced with someone who clearly wasn’t interested. It was… odd. Not important to me. But odd.

I started walking toward the main building, my steps steady, my thoughts already moving back to more important things. My schedule for the day, my duties on the student council, deadlines that needed exactness—

—and then I saw him. Standing exactly where he shouldn’t be. Waiting.

He looked the same as yesterday. Too relaxed, too open, like the space around him belonged to him just as much as anyone else’s. He didn’t seem unsure at all, no sign that he had thought twice about his behavior overnight. If anything, he looked like he was expecting something.

And in his hands was a box. It was nicely wrapped.

I slowed my pace, almost without noticing. For a short moment, I thought about just walking past him. That would have been easy. Quick. The right thing to do. Ignore him. Keep going. End this before it becomes something annoying. I could already see how this would go. He’d try again. Maybe for a few days. A week at most. And then, like everyone else who can’t get a reaction, he would stop. That’s how these things usually end.

But yet— I stopped. Not completely or like I meant to. It was just enough so he could step forward.

“Good morning,” he said, like this was normal. Like we had some kind of agreement I hadn’t agreed to.

I didn’t answer right away. My eyes dropped for a second to the box in his hands, then went back to his face. “What is that?” I asked.

“A peace offering,” he said easily. “Or maybe a bribe. I’m not sure which one works better for you.”

There was a pause. “I didn’t ask for either.”

“I know,” he replied, smiling. “That’s why it’s more interesting.”

His answer was… not logical. And yet, he said it so casually that it didn’t feel forced. I should have just dismissed him. Instead, I held out my hand. “Give it to me.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by something brighter. He placed the box in my hand carefully, like it was more important than it was. “It’s fresh,” he added. “I made it last night.”

I didn’t respond to that. “Don’t do this again,” I said, my voice even and controlled. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t mind.”

I looked at him for another second. Then turned and walked past him. That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

The box stayed in my bag longer than it should have. I had no intention of opening it. No reason to. It served no purpose beyond what it already was—a gesture I had neither encouraged nor needed. And yet, sometime in the afternoon, when the day’s noise had settled into something dull, I found myself reaching for it.

It was an unnecessary action. I knew that. Still, I opened it. The smell reached me first. It was gentle and sweet. Not too strong. Inside, the dessert looked simple. No extra decorations. No attempt to impress with too much. It looked… thoughtful. Made with care.

I paused for a moment before taking a bite. The taste was surprising. There was a softness to it, a kind of warmth that didn’t come from being fancy. It wasn’t amazing. But it wasn’t something I’d forget easily either. I finished it without realizing I had decided to. And when I closed the box, there was a brief, unfamiliar quiet in my thoughts. Something I couldn’t immediately figure out.

I pushed it away. It meant nothing.

The next morning, I arrived at school with no plan to repeat what had happened. That was the plan. And yet— he was there again. In the same spot. With the same look on his face. Holding another box.

This time, I didn’t even think about walking past him. I simply stopped. “You didn’t listen,” I said.

“I did,” he replied. “I just didn’t agree.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. No sign he was uncomfortable. “Give it to me,” I said.

He did. No pause. No questions. Just that same quiet confidence, as this exchange had already become something normal. I didn’t thank him. He didn’t expect me to.

Days passed. Not many. But enough to create a pattern. He showed up every morning. Always on time. Always with something new. And always with that same expression that suggested none of this was strange to him. At first, I tried to ignore him as much as possible. Took the desserts without talking more. Answered his attempts at conversation with only a few words.

It should have made him stop. It didn’t. If anything, he changed his approach. He spoke less when I didn’t respond, but he didn’t stop completely. He adjusted how he did things, the tone, as if he was learning something I hadn’t agreed to teach him. And I— I noticed. Small and unnecessary things. The way he tilted his head slightly when he was thinking. The way he didn’t seem bothered by the looks people gave him. The way his smile didn’t change, even when it should have. It was… annoying. And yet— not entirely.

“You’re spending time with him.” My best friend, Julius, was pissed this time.

I didn’t look up from my book. “I’m not.”

Across from me, Adrian, another friend of mine leaned back in his chair, watching me with a bit of amusement. “Then why haven’t you told him to stop?”

“I have.”

“Clearly not well enough.”

I turned a page. “If I wanted him gone, he would be.”

Adrian smiled a little. “But you don’t.”

I didn’t answer. Because there was nothing to answer. 

The attention began to shift. At first, people had been looking at Louis. The new student. The one brave enough to talk to me without hesitation. Now, it was split. People were watching me. And waiting for a reaction or decision. I ignored it. Like I ignored most things that didn’t need my attention. But even I could tell when something had gone beyond its beginning. This wasn’t just a single event anymore. It was becoming… noticeable.

And then, one morning— he wasn’t there. I walked through the gates without slowing down. Without looking or thinking. At least, that’s what I told myself. The missing presence registered anyway. Not right away. But slowly. A space where something had been. A pattern broken. I kept walking. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. I convinced myself. 

The next day, I arrived earlier than usual. Not on purpose. Just… earlier. The campus was quieter at that hour. Fewer people. Less going on. The kind of quiet I was used to. I stepped through the gates and— paused. My eyes moved, almost without my thinking, to the spot where he usually stood. But it was empty. I frowned slightly. 

I stood there for a moment longer than I should have. Waiting. For something I hadn’t admitted. For someone I hadn’t invited. It didn’t make sense. And that was a problem.

A few minutes later, I saw him. Running. A little out of breath, his uniform not as perfectly neat as usual, his expression apologetic but still somehow bright. “I’m late,” he said, like it was a big deal. I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched him. I noticed how his presence filled the space again, as if he had never been gone. He held out the box. “I almost didn’t make it in time.”

I took it. “You’re careless,” I said.

“Only a little,” he replied. There was no embarrassment in his voice. No defensiv

eness. Just that same quiet ease. I turned to leave. But this time I didn’t dismiss him right away.