Enemies to lovers
Don’t be late, loser.
Brian smiled faintly. She was a freshman, a loud, brilliant firecracker who somehow still managed to talk circles around him. Lyra had her own mind, her own rules, and absolutely no patience for anyone—including her big brother.
He stood and gathered his things.
“I’m out,” he told his friends. “Lyra needs something.”
“Aww,” Matteo mocked. “Big bro duty calls.”
Brian flipped him off half-heartedly and left.
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He found Lyra near the library entrance, arms crossed, backpack slung over one shoulder. She was chatting animatedly with another girl—short, with braids pulled into a neat ponytail, dimples cutting deep into her cheeks. There was something familiar about her.