Chapter Three: His eyes—Storm-grey

The Meeting 

The first week in the city felt like walking inside a dream someone else had written for me.

The campus was too wide, too lively. Stone buildings reached higher than the roofs back home, their shadows cutting across lawns dotted with students who moved like they’d been born here. Laughter and chatter overlapped everywhere, a hundred voices tangled in one restless hum. The air even smelled different—coffee drifting from the café by the library, grass sharp under the sun, and the faint exhaust of cars groaning along the busy road that framed the gates.

Kim hadn’t seemed fazed at all.

“Norah,” she said, looping her arm through mine, “I don’t care if my school’s across the city. You’re stuck with me every weekend. Shopping, food stalls, maybe even a club if I can drag you. Don’t argue—you’ll thank me later”.

Kim’s grip on my arm was so tight I almost winced. Like she thought holding me that way would make her promise stick. I rolled my eyes, but the smile still came. Couldn’t help it. That was Kim—loud, certain, always pulling me along.

Mary, my roommate, was the opposite.

Mary was the sort of girl people stopped to look at twice. Red hair that blazed when sunlight hit it, green eyes so bright they seemed to laugh before her lips even moved. Her voice carried that soft Spanish rhythm, turning plain words into music.

“Fairy lights,” she said one evening, clipping the last strand above her desk. “They make everything warmer. Without them, a room is just a room. With them—” she twirled, her accent curling around the words—“it becomes a stage.”

I laughed. “A stage?”

“For life. For love,” she replied, tossing her hair back. “You’ll see, Norah. This city is full of stories. Somewhere out there, there’s a boy who will look at you once and never recover.”

She winked as if she already knew the ending. That was Mary—passionate, dramatic, always searching for beauty in everything.

I couldn’t deny she was stunning. But even standing next to her, I felt the weight of stares tilt toward me instead. Back home, that attention always left me uneasy. Here, in a city of strangers, I didn’t know what to do with it.

Classes started almost at once. Maps unfolded, crumpled, refolded as I tried to memorize paths between lecture halls. On the third morning, I overheard his name.

“Ivan,” someone whispered behind me.

“With Rose again?” another voice murmured.

“Of course. She follows him everywhere.”

“He doesn’t belong to anyone. He’s… different.”

The way they said it made my stomach dip. Not with admiration alone, but with caution. The name carried weight: Ivan Thomas. And always—always—tied to Rose.

I tucked the whispers away. The stares in the cafeteria weren’t aimed at me.

The noise was strange—too loud, too sharp. Not lunch noise. The kind of noise that builds when people are waiting for something. Most of them were crammed by the doors, phones already up. Then this black car slid into the lot outside. Slow. Smooth. And everyone tilted that way, like the car was pulling the whole room with it.

“He’s here.”

“Ivan. With Rose.”

The words rippled through the crowd like a warning.

I didn’t need anyone to point. When he stepped inside, the air changed. Not louder—quieter, as if the walls themselves were listening. Rose was hooked to his arm, sharp smile fixed in place, her heels clicking in a rhythm that said: mine.

But no one looked at her. All eyes pulled to him.

Ivan Thomas.

He didn’t walk like a student. He walked like the ground already belonged to him. Broad shoulders loose, dark hoodie unbothered, that silver chain flashing once under the cafeteria light. His expression gave nothing away. The kind of stillness that made you second-guess yourself for even looking too long.

 I yanked my eyes down and went to the counter. I wasn’t here for drama. I was here for food.

But hunger made me careless.

The cup slipped in my hand, soda rushing out in a dark arc. It splattered across the fabric—his fabric. Black hoodie, now marked by my clumsy hands.

The silence was instant.

“She didn’t—”

“She spilled on him?”

“Oh, she’s done.”

Heat slammed into my cheeks. My throat tightened.

I looked up.

And everything in me stilled.

His eyes—storm-grey, cold and deep—met mine. Not with anger. Not even a surprise. Just a piercing, steady weight that pinned me in place. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

I’d seen handsome before. Village boys who smiled too wide, older students who tried too hard. This wasn’t that. This was beauty so sharp it felt dangerous. A jawline cut from stone, lashes shadowing those eyes, lips set in the faintest curve that made my chest squeeze.

For one breath, one unbearable breath, I forgot everything. The gossip. The warnings. Even my apology stuck in my throat. There was only him.

Then reality shoved back in.

“I—I’m so sorry.” My words tripped over each other, too soft, too fast. I scrambled for napkins, hands shaking.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch. Just kept looking at me, his head cocked slightly, like I’d messed up some script he knew by heart. Then his mouth shifted—tiny curve, almost a smile.Not warmth. Not mockery. Something in between.

And the whispers exploded.

“He smiled?”

“No way. He never smiles.”

“Who is she?”

Rose’s voice hit next. Sweet tone, sharp edge. “Watch where you’re going, newbie.”

My stomach dropped, but I forced my shoulders back. “I said I was sorry.” My voice came out stronger than I expected 

Ivan didn’t glance at Rose. His eyes stayed locked on mine. Long enough to make me feel stripped bare. Long enough to make me want to run.

I turned, pushing past the bodies pressing in, heat crawling up my neck. But the weight of his stare followed me, heavy, burning.

I told myself not to look back.

But I did. Just once.

I tried to leave, but yeah—I looked back. I couldn't stop myself. He was still there. Still watching. That small curve on his mouth hadn’t moved, like he knew something I didn’t. 

A smile that wasn’t kind.

A smile that promised nothing safe.

A smile that promised trouble.