Liang Meiyu stepped through the iron gates of Huayang High School, clutching her new bag like a lifeline. Her first day as a transfer student had barely begun, and she already felt like every pair of eyes in the hallway had sized her up — from her old-fashioned braids to the floral-printed lunchbox hanging from her wrist.

She tried to ignore the whispers trailing behind her.

"Who's the new girl?"

"She looks like she came from a textbook."

"Too soft for this class. Just wait till she meets him."

Him?

She didn’t have to wait long.

The classroom buzzed like a beehive when she entered. Meiyu found the seating chart pinned on the notice board and traced her finger down the list. Seat 8... by the window. Desk partner: Zhao Yichen.

Her breath caught.

She’d heard of Zhao Yichen in the five minutes it took her to walk from the gates to the classroom. He was the school’s certified bad boy — leather jacket, loud motorcycle, and a reputation as cold as the winter wind. Detentions clung to his name like stickers on a well-worn laptop.

She made her way to the desk, placing her books down carefully and sitting with her back straight, eyes on the board.

The empty seat beside her radiated warning signs. Still, she told herself she could handle it. She had survived worse.

That was before he walked in.

Late, naturally. With his hair slightly wet from a morning drizzle and his black hoodie tossed over his shoulder like he was modelling apathy. Zhao Yichen barely glanced at the teacher as he slid into the chair beside Meiyu, earbuds dangling from one ear.

He didn’t look at her. Not at first.

Then, without warning, he nudged her elbow. “You’re blocking the light.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head lazily, eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Sunlight. Window. Your head’s in the way.”

Meiyu flushed. “Maybe try focusing on class instead of suntanning like a plant.”

A small smirk curled at the edge of his lips. “Cute.”

She turned away, ears red. Why did he call her that like it was an insult and a compliment at the same time?

The teacher began class, but Meiyu couldn’t concentrate. Not with Zhao Yichen tapping his pen rhythmically against his desk. Not with him doodling skulls and cats (why cats?) in the margins of his book. Not with the occasional sideways glance he threw her way like she was some strange puzzle, he was still deciding whether to solve or burn.

Then it happened.

She reached into her bag for a pen and paused. It was gone.

Turning to Zhao, she found her pen twirling between his fingers.

"Give it back," she whispered.

"I’m just borrowing. Team bonding."

"This is not bonding."

"Sure it is. Look how close we’ve gotten already."

Before she could snatch it back, he tossed it gently onto her notebook — barely missing her water bottle.

Meiyu stared at him, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And you’re fun when you’re mad.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of chalk dust and side-eye battles. But as the final bell rang and students poured out of the classroom, Meiyu stayed behind for a moment longer.

Zhao Yichen was still at his desk, sketching something in the corner of his page.

A kitten. Wearing sunglasses.

He looked up. “Say anything, and I’ll deny it.”

Meiyu smiled — just a little.

Maybe this year wouldn’t be so boring after all.

By the next morning, Liang Meiyu had come prepared: two pens, a backup notebook, and enough inner calm to ignore her desk partner no matter how annoying he tried to be.

Which was very.

Zhao Yichen slouched in his seat like the desk personally offended him, earbuds in one ear and his hoodie halfway on, halfway off. He didn’t say good morning — not that Meiyu expected him to — but he did casually nudge her notebook with his elbow until she gave him The Look.

He grinned like that was exactly what he wanted.

Immature. she thought. Like a five-year-old in a teenager’s body.

The teacher entered moments later, carrying a stack of paper and a grin that meant trouble.

"Today, we’re starting a group project. Tang Dynasty poetry analysis. Partners are your current desk mates."

A quiet groan rose across the classroom.

Meiyu’s heart sank.

Zhao Yichen tilted his chair back and looked at her with mock horror. “Oh no,” he said dryly. “Stuck with the class genius. Whatever shall I do?”

She sighed. “Try learning something for once.”

“Bold words for someone who hoards pens like candy.”

“Don’t start.”

“Too late.”

---

📚 After School - The Library Steps

Meiyu waited at the school library steps after the last bell, clutching her poetry handouts. She checked her phone. Ten minutes late. Typical.

Just as she was about to give up, a shadow fell across her page.

“Didn’t think you'd actually wait,” said Zhao Yichen, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You said you’d come.”

“I also said I hate literature. You believed me anyway.”

She rolled her eyes and led him inside, finding a table near the window. Peach blossoms danced outside in the spring breeze, but Meiyu had little time to enjoy them — not when her desk partner kept tapping his pencil and flipping pages just to annoy her.

“Zhao Yichen, stop acting like you’re allergic to paper,” she whispered.

“I might be,” he said seriously. “This much poetry can’t be good for anyone.”

“Well, I’m not doing the whole project alone.”

He leaned back. “Then don’t. Let’s do it the fun way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your definition of fun involves detention.”

“And yours involves footnotes and full citations.”

“And grades,” she snapped. “Which I’d like to keep.”

Zhao looked at her for a moment — really looked. “You’re serious about this school stuff.”

“Of course I am. I want to get into a good university. Make my parents proud.”

He paused. “Must be nice.”

She blinked. “What?”

He shook his head and stood up. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Somewhere I can breathe. You’re too tense for the library.”

---

🌧️ Outside – A Sudden Storm

They didn’t get far before the sky darkened, and rain came down in thick, heavy drops. Meiyu squeaked, shielding her papers under her bag.

Zhao Yichen pulled an umbrella from his backpack — black, slightly torn on one side, but functional. Without a word, he held it above them both.

Meiyu looked up in surprise. “You carry an umbrella?”

He shrugged. “I’m not a total disaster.”

They walked side by side, just close enough for their arms to brush every now and then.

She glanced at him. “Thanks.”

He looked straight ahead. “Don’t mention it.”

Silence settled, warm despite the rain.

Then Zhao said quietly, “You’re not as boring as I thought.”

Meiyu turned to him, blinking. “And you’re not as scary as people say.”

He smirked. “Give it time.”

---

By Wednesday, Liang Meiyu had accepted her fate: sitting next to Zhao Yichen meant living in a battlefield disguised as a classroom.

Every day, it was something new.

Yesterday, he’d changed her name on the group presentation slides to “Mint Monster.”

Today, he scribbled devil horns on her photo ID and stuck it to her pencil box with washi tape.

And yet… he showed up to group study. On time.

Meiyu didn’t know whether to applaud or suspect he was planning something.

---

After school, they sat in the back corner of the library — the only quiet place where Zhao Yichen claimed he wouldn't be “bored to death.” Rows of dusty shelves surrounded them, and the smell of old books made Meiyu feel safe, like she belonged somewhere.

Zhao, on the other hand, looked like a shadow misplaced by the sun.

“So,” Meiyu began, pulling out her carefully written outline, “Tang poetry. You take the historical context, and I’ll handle the analysis. Fair?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Sure. But I’m not reading off some cringey script in front of everyone.”

“It’s not cringey. It’s structured.”

“It’s death in word form.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then write your own part. But don’t come crying if the teacher deducts points.”

He grinned, that lazy lopsided grin that somehow both annoyed and fascinated her.

“You care too much, Meiyu. Ever tried letting loose?”

She blinked. “Ever tried giving a damn?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he chuckled — low and surprised, like she’d said something outrageous.

---

By the time they left the library, the sky had darkened, and the first drops of rain began to fall.

Meiyu gasped, hugging her books to her chest. “No, no, no! My notes—!”

Before she could panic further, a black hoodie was thrown over her head. She stood frozen, blinking under the sudden warmth and scent of fabric — detergent, lemon gum, and… something else. Something distinctly Zhao Yichen.

He was already holding his umbrella above them both, lips tugging into a smirk.

“Relax, Mint Monster. I got you.”

She peeked out from under the hoodie, lips parting in disbelief. “You… brought an umbrella?”

“I’m not that useless.” His voice softened just slightly. “I don’t let my partner drown.”

They walked together in silence, shoes splashing in puddles and shoulders barely brushing. The wind was cold, but under the umbrella, everything felt quiet and warm.

For once, Zhao Yichen wasn’t teasing. He just… walked beside her.

And maybe that was what caught her off guard the most.

They reached the front gates, where their paths would split. Meiyu hesitated, then handed him back the hoodie.

“Thanks. For… saving my notes.”

He took it slowly, eyes unreadable. Then, almost too casually:

“You know…”

“What?”

“You don’t smell like mint today.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He smirked. “More like… strawberries.”

Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, hoodie slung over his shoulder, umbrella swinging at his side.

Meiyu stood under the soft drizzle, heart thudding.

What… just happened?

---