Polar Opposites

{Grace’s POV} Airports are terrifying. Not because of the planes. Planes are actually the least concerning thing about airports. They just fly through the sky carrying hundreds of people and everyone collectively agrees not to panic about that… which honestly feels irresponsible. But no, airports are terrifying to me because they expect you to know things. Where to stand. Where to scan. Where to walk. Why Gate C somehow becomes Gate F if Mercury is in retrograde… And worst of all? The luggages. My suitcase hated me. That was the only explanation for why the stupid thing suddenly swerved sideways while I was dragging it through Montclair International Airport like we were in a toxic relationship. “Come on,” I hissed through clenched teeth. The suitcase responded by flipping over dramatically— right onto a businessman’s polished shoe. “Oh my God.” I froze. The impact almost tipped him over, and so the businessman froze after gaining his balance. My soul packed its bags and left my body entirely. He looked like a rich and powerful minister of something something. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted, yanking the suitcase upright so fast the handle snapped back and hit me directly in the forehead. Pain exploded behind my eyes. Wonderful. The businessman stared at me. I stared back at him with the ache. Then, because apparently humiliation wasn’t done with me yet, my smaller carry-on slowly rolled away from us like it no longer wished to be associated with me. Traitor. “Oh my God,” I whispered again, watching it drift toward a group of tourists. This was how supervillains were created. Not through tragedy. Through repeated public embarrassment. “I got it.” A guy around my age grabbed the runaway suitcase before it could take out a toddler. “Oh thank you,” I breathed, hurrying over. “You may have just saved me from international imprisonment.” He blinked. I blinked. Why did I say imprisonment? Normal people said “Thanks”, not “thank you for preventing my arrest.” “You’re welcome?” he said carefully, like I might bite him. “That sounded weird,” I admitted. “A little.” “Yeah.” Please stop talking, Grace. He handed me the suitcase and I grabbed it with both hands this time because clearly I couldn’t be trusted with my own luggage. “First day in the city?” he asked. Was it that obvious? Did I have LOST FOREIGNER written across my forehead? Actually, with the way my bangs were sticking to my face after twelve hours of travel, maybe I did. “That obvious, huh?” “I saw that you almost fell that businessman.” “In my defense,” I said, adjusting the strap slipping off my shoulder for the third time in that moment, “I’m too rich for him to be walking that close to me.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Victory. Tiny. But still victory. “Well,” he said, stepping aside, “good luck surviving Montclair.” Surviving. Interesting choice of words. “Thanks,” I replied. “I’ll try not to commit any more crimes.” His expression suggested I probably shouldn’t speak anymore. Fair. I dragged my luggage toward the exit before anything else catastrophic could happen. Then the automatic doors refused to open for me. I stood there awkwardly. Nothing. I stepped closer. Nothing. A woman walked past me and the doors immediately slid open. Rude. I waved my hand in front of the sensor as she had done and then the doors opened and I immediately stumbled through them with all the grace my parents unfortunately named me after. The cold city air hit my face instantly. Montclair. New country. New university. New life. No pressure. I looked around at the endless rows of cars, honking taxis, glowing signs, and towering buildings stretching into the gray afternoon sky. Everything felt louder here. Faster. Like the city was already moving ahead while I was still buffering. For a second, something nervous twisted in my stomach. Not panic exactly. Just… What if I don’t belong here? Then my suitcase wheel squeaked aggressively beside me. Right. No time for emotional crises. I ordered an Uber. The driver’s name was Eugene, which felt trustworthy. Like someone named Eugene would help you hide a body respectfully— not that I had a body to hide. Yet. Haha. Okay, seriously. I don’t have a body to hide. The ride to Montclair University took forty minutes and I sat by the window watching the city blur past. Massive buildings. Coffee shops. People in expensive coats walking like they had somewhere important to be. Everyone here looked like they moisturized regularly. Meanwhile I looked like sleep deprivation wrapped in denim. The closer we got to campus, the prettier everything became. The streets widened. The trees thickened. The buildings transformed from modern glass towers into beautiful stone architecture wrapped in ivy. It looked less like a university and more like a place where rich people learned how to judge others professionally. “First year?” Eugene asked. “Transfer student.” “Oof.” What does oof mean? Was that supportive? Threatening? A warning? “You’ll love it,” he added and that sounded suspiciously like damage control. My stomach flipped again as we passed through enormous black iron gates. MONTCLAIR UNIVERSITY. The letters stretched across stone so expensive-looking I felt underqualified to even read it. Students crowded the pathways everywhere, laughing, talking, walking in groups and looking like a sea of very attractive ants with career goals. Some carried coffee cups like accessories. Others looked like they’d stepped straight out of luxury clothing campaigns. One guy skateboarded past wearing sunglasses indoors. That level of confidence should honestly require government approval. Meanwhile, I nearly tripped getting out of the Uber because my bootlace got caught on my suitcase wheel. Fantastic entrance, Grace. Very elegant. I pulled out my phone upon my exit and texted my cousin. “I’m here.” Three dots appeared instantly. SOFIA: WHERE??? GRACE: Excellent question. SOFIA: Grace. GRACE: I’m outside. SOFIA: Outside, around where?? I looked around. Students. Trees. Signboards. Then my eyes landed on the nearest object beside me. I typed, “Dumpster.” Her reply came immediately. SOFIA: That is NOT a location. GRACE: Technically it’s a structure. SOFIA: GRACE! I looked around again and saw, “A large green building.” Sofia response came after a moment, “You are genuinely exhausting.” “And yet you love me.” Sofia: Unfortunately. Five minutes later, I spotted her jogging toward me through the crowd. And wow. Puberty had been EXTREMELY generous to Sofia. My cousin looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Long dark curls, perfect skin, hourglass curves and effortless confidence. Meanwhile I looked like I’d recently escaped a rainforest. “Grace!” I barely had time to react before she threw her arms around me. I hugged her back instantly, almost losing balance from the force. “You got taller,” she said, pulling back to stare at me. “You got terrifyingly pretty.” She grinned. “I missed you too.” “It’s been five years,” I said. “Five and a half.” “Who counts halves?” “Emotionally attached people.” Fair enough. She grabbed one of my bags before I could protest. “How was the flight?” “I think my spine is permanently bent now.” “Perfect. You’ll fit right in during finals week.” She joked as she started ahead. I laughed softly and then my luggage hit a stone, reminding me of its existence. “Uhm. Sofia, I need to go to the Lodge Operator’s office to get my hostel and dispose of these stupid luggages there. I was told to go there on time.” “Oh, come on. We can go there after I show you around.” “But—” “No buts. Come on. There’s a lot to see.” She pulled me and with that, I followed her through campus. Students moved around us constantly now and the entire university felt alive in a way that was almost overwhelming. Sofia inherently transformed into a tour guide as we went, pointing out different buildings and landmarks. “That’s the arts building. Nobody sleeps there voluntarily. That café over there is overpriced but addictive. And the library looks peaceful until exam season when people start crying in corners.” Comforting. Very comforting. “And over there,” she continued dramatically, “is where relationships go to die.” I looked toward a large staircase crowded with students. “What happens there?” “Couples break up there constantly.” “Why specifically there?” “Acoustics maybe.” She snorted at my expression. “I missed this.” “What?” “The weird little expressions and comments you make.” I smiled despite myself. She kept guiding me through campus while talking about parties, professors, dorm disasters, and social circles. Apparently Montclair had, rich kids, athletes, future politicians, trust fund babies, influencers, and shhh; secret societies Which honestly makes this place sound less like a university and more like a social experiment. We were still walking when Sofia suddenly halted at the foot of a hallway. I almost bumped into her. “Wait.” She said instantly and I roamed my gaze around, checking why we were waiting. “Why?” “Damien Rayes,” She said, looking cautious suddenly and I become even more confused. Something about the way she said his name… Around us, the crowd of girls nearby reacted immediately. Heads swerving with interested eyes and tense chatters growing. It was as if and so I had to ask. “Who’s Damian Reyes?” Sofia looked at me like I’d asked who gravity was. “You seriously don’t know him?” “I literally arrived two hours ago.” “Right. Okay.” She adjusted her position slightly, her expression growing concerningly serious. “He’s Montclair’s royalty.” That sounded insufferable already. “He’s on the basketball team,” she continued. “Rich. Untouchable and desperately stunning. Everybody knows him!” “Everybody fears him too apparently,” I noticed. She hesitated. “That’s–that’s because Damian’s…” Her voice lowered slightly. “Different.” Different. What a terrifyingly vague word. I raised a brow, “He fights?” “Not publicly.” Oh. Even worse. “He’s not the loud type,” Sofia explained. “That’s what makes him scary.” Before I could ask more, Sofia suddenly stopped looking responsive. She froze and around us, the atmosphere shifted strangely. It happened so subtly I almost thought I imagined it. Conversations lowered. People looked up. Students began moving aside near the main pathway ahead— like something invisible was approaching. “What’s happening?” I whispered. Sofia sharped her gaze ahead. “Oh.” “What oh?” “That’s him.” She said and my eyes followed her line of sight. At first, all I saw was movement between students… then he stepped fully into view… And suddenly I understood why the entire campus reacted like a celestial being was approaching. Tall. That was the first thing I noticed. Not just tall, but commanding; the kind of height that made crowds part naturally around him. Dark clothes. Black hoodie pushed beneath a charcoal jacket. Broad shoulders. Tattooed fingers loosely wrapped around a phone. This person walked with terrifying calmness. Not arrogance. Worse. Certainty. And people stared at him openly, but he barely looked at anyone. Like the world bored him. A group of guys followed behind him, talking loudly about something, but he remained quiet. Detached. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, messy in a way that looked unfairly good. Sharp cheekbones. Defined jawline; the kind of face magazines would ruin families over. And then his eyes— God. Even from here, they looked cold enough to freeze oceans. And they weren’t emotionless-looking. They looked controlled. Like every dangerous thing about him lived carefully restrained beneath his skin. The entire campus seemed hyperaware of him; girls watching him and guys moving aside for him. But he looked through everything like none of it mattered. Then his gaze lifted briefly. And for one horrible second, it almost felt like those eyes landed directly on me for which my heart leaped so hard it could qualify for Olympic gymnastics. Holy mother of emotional damage… Sofia leaned closer to me then. “Welcome to Montclair.”