FIRST ENCOUNTER
I stood by my locker, struggling with the stubborn lock like it had suddenly decided to embarrass me on purpose, when his presence hit me—calm, confident, and completely unbothered. He leaned against the lockers opposite mine, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes sharp. The kind of guy who didn’t smile unless he wanted to, and even then, it was probably sarcastic.
“Are you done?” he asked, voice flat.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re blocking the hallway.”
I turned slowly, heat rising to my face. The hallway was practically empty. First week of the term. Everyone else had already rushed off, desperate to avoid detention or late marks. And yet, I was the problem.
“I’ll move when I’m ready,” I said, yanking my locker open harder than necessary.
He scoffed. Actually scoffed. Like I had just said something stupid.
“Figures,” he muttered.
That was it. I slammed the locker shut and faced him. “Do you talk to everyone like that, or am I just special?”
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Brief. Dangerous.
“Trust me,” he said, pushing himself off the locker, towering just a little too close, “you’re not special.”
And then he walked away.
Just like that.
No apology.
No second glance.
I watched his back disappear down the hallway, my heart doing something stupid in my chest. I hated him instantly. The arrogance. The attitude. The way he acted like he owned the place
I shook my head, forcing myself to breathe.
Why was I even thinking about him?
I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed toward class, but my mind refused to cooperate. His voice replayed in my head—low, careless, like he didn’t care who he stepped on. Guys like him always thought the world owed them something. Confidence dripping off them for no reason at all.
And yet…
I pushed open the classroom door and froze.
He was there.
Of course he was.
Seated at the back, one leg stretched out lazily, chair tilted like rules didn’t apply to him. His arms were folded again, eyes fixed on the window, completely uninterested in the chatter around him. A few girls whispered near the front, sneaking glances like he was some kind of forbidden attraction.
I rolled my eyes and took the nearest empty seat—front row. As far from him as possible.
Or so I thought.
“Miss, you can sit over there.”
The teacher pointed.
To the empty seat beside him.
My heart dropped.
I hesitated, hoping—praying—he’d say something, protest, disappear. But he didn’t even look at me. Just shifted slightly, making space like my presence didn’t matter.
I walked down the aisle, every step louder than it needed to be, and sat beside him, careful to keep a respectable distance. The faint scent of cologne hit me—clean, subtle, irritatingly nice.
Great. Even his perfume was annoying.
He finally turned his head, eyes flicking toward me for half a second.
“You again,” he said under his breath.
“Unfortunately,” I replied, not looking at him.
A corner of his lips twitched. Not a smile. Something worse.
Silence settled between us as the teacher started talking, but I could feel his attention now. Not openly and he was too proud for that ,but enough to make my skin prickle.
I tried to focus. Tried to listen. Tried not to notice the way his arm rested far too close to mine.
“Stop tapping your pen,” he muttered.
I froze. “I wasn’t tapping.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Well, now I am,” I said, tapping it deliberately harder.
He turned fully this time, eyes dark, unreadable. For a moment, I thought he’d snap. Instead, he leaned closer.
“You like pushing buttons,” he said quietly.
“And you like being rude,” I shot back.
His gaze lingered on my face, longer than necessary. “Careful,” he said. “You might regret it.”
The bell rang before I could respond.
Students stood, chairs scraping, noise flooding the room. I grabbed my bag and stood quickly, refusing to let him see how fast my heart was racing.
As I walked past him, his voice stopped me.
“What’s your name?”
I paused.
Part of me wanted to ignore him. To keep walking. To pretend he didn’t exist.
But I turned anyway.
I met his eyes and said my name once, clearly.
He nodded slowly, like he was filing it away for later.
And for the first time, I realized something unsettling.
This wasn’t a one time encounter.
This was the start of something messy.
Something reckless.
Something I should run from—but somehow already wasn’t.
