The morning sun poured across the lawns of Northfield University, lighting the walkways where students hurried to class. Eliana Grace moved quietly among them, her sketchbook clutched to her chest, her eyes fixed on the cobblestones. She had always preferred calm to chaos, art to conversation. Her small circle of friends often joked that she lived inside her own drawings.
As she turned the corner by the Literature Hall, she collided with someone solid. Books scattered. Pencils rolled. She dropped to her knees, murmuring apologies, only to look up into eyes as pale as frost. Adrian Cole. Everyone on campus knew him: brilliant, reserved, never smiling. The nickname “Ice Prince” followed him like a shadow. He glanced down at her, expression unreadable.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said quietly. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it left her cheeks burning.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, reaching for her scattered pages. But he was already walking away, his long stride unhurried, indifferent.
When she finally stood, the noise of the hallway returned, yet her mind stayed frozen on his face. That evening she opened her sketchbook and found herself drawing him without realizing it — the straight line of his jaw, the calm intensity in his eyes. It was foolish, she told herself, but something about him lingered like a question she couldn’t stop asking.
Adrian remembered her too. For reasons he couldn’t explain, the image of that shy girl with trembling hands stayed in his head longer than it should have.