CORI felt the same as it always did.

It had always been like that—a sprawling, open-ground campus where the architecture was secondary to the people who inhabited it. It wasn’t a place of restrictive walls; but was an open expanse where the only enclosed spaces were the lecture halls themselves. The rest was a stage, a vast green and stone theater where students from all over the world gathered to perform.

People at CORI had their lives figured out, or at least, they were pretending to make it seem that way.

It was always like this—full of people, chaotic yet strangely predictable.

The students walked between lectures in designer streetwear and tailored silhouettes, looking busy and well-dressed as if every step they took was toward something monumentally important.

Every movement was curated to look refined, a constant competition to see who could look the most "settled" in this huge place.

I walked around the campus, ignoring the usual stares. It wasn't because I wanted to be cold or distant, but because the name 'Keepling' was weighing down my shoulders.

At CORI, that name was more than a signature; it was a legacy. I could feel the eyes tracking me, measuring the way I walked and the way I carried myself, searching for a crack in the Keepling armor.

I had learned to ignore it, to mask the pressure with a calm exterior, but the weight was always there.

I was lost in the rhythm of the crowd when a familiar voice cut through my internal monologue.

"You're late."

I did not turn around because I knew exactly who it was.

Damian Desmond was walking toward me, looking like he’d stepped straight out of a Wattpad story.

He was the kind of guy who didn't just wear clothes; he owned them. Tall and lean, he had that effortless grace that made even the most casual outfit look high-end.

His brownish-black hair was perfectly messy, a few stray locks lingering over his forehead as he moved with a relaxed, hands-in-pockets slouch.

He was wearing a navy blue half-zipper hoodie casually pulled on over a white tee that peeked out from the bottom. He’d paired it with grey trouser pants, a look that he pulled off with a casual confidence that made every girl on the open lawn do a double-take.

"You're early," I countered, looking at him and rolling my eyes.

"I am always early," he added bending towards my ear and spoke teasingly.

"That sounds like a you-problem," I retorted.

His lips almost curved into a smile.

Almost.

We fell into step, walking side by side across the open grounds.

As we walked, his scent lingered—fresh, sharp citrus settling into something warmer, more grounded.

It suited him too well. Effortless. Controlled.

I hated how much I liked it.

My shoulder brushed against his arm in the crowded campus.

After a minute, he spoke up, his voice dropping into a more personal tone. "Are you coming today, or will you just stay at home while Yuri and I hang out?"

“Obviously I’m coming with you guys.As if I’d miss that!" I said, the joy cutting through the weight of my name.

Damian, Yuri, and I had decided to go to a new restaurant in the city to try out its food as it was hyped about in the city.

Damian was about to say something when suddenly, out of nowhere, someone suddenly shouted —

"Anya, wait—!"

It was an unfamiliar voice. I turned around to see a girl sprinting toward us. She was a blur of frantic energy, her pastel pink crop top and white jeans a bright pop against the greenery. She skidded to a halt, completely breathless, her chest heaving as she struggled for air.

"Hi! I am Becky... we're in the same class," she gasped out.

She extended her hand, and I took it. Her palm was slick with sweat from the run, a damp, hot pressure against mine. She offered a quick, nervous smile to Damian but didn't bother to introduce herself to him; we were already late for our lecture.

As we walked, Becky fell into step right beside me. We reached the point where the paths diverged, and Damian paused.

"Bye, Anya! See you later," he called out, heading toward his own lecture wing with a final, teasing glance and a wave over his shoulder.

Now it was just us. As we walked, Becky’s shoulder brushed against mine. She was trying so hard to stay upright and not get clumsy in front of me, but the sprint had taken its toll.

She tipped once—a small, awkward stumble—but luckily landed on her feet, her face flushing a soft rose.

She was exactly my height, and I could see the intense nerves in her eyes. She was trying so desperately to fit in the chaotic mess or to become friends with me.

Then, her scent hit me.

She smelled like soft flowers, perhaps sakura, mixed with a hint of vanilla.

It was light, sweet, and surprisingly calm.

It fit her perfectly.

But as we kept walking toward the lecture hall, a strange sensation settled over me.

There was something... familiar about her.

It was a weird, heavy pull in my chest, an emotional echo I couldn't quite place.

I didn't know how or why, but looking at Becky felt like a memory that was just out of reach.

Even though I was sure we’d never met before...

The campus courtyard felt alive that morning—soft chaos woven into routine. Footsteps overlapped, conversations blurred into a steady hum, and the breeze carried the scent of trees and something faintly sweet from a nearby café.

I adjusted my bag strap, scanning the space

—and found them.

Becky stood near the steps, shifting her weight slightly, like she wasn’t fully anchored yet. She was smiling, talking, trying—but there was a slight hesitation in the way her fingers fidgeted between gestures. New. Not uncomfortable… just not settled.

The moment her eyes landed on me, her entire posture relaxed.

“Anya!” she called, relief slipping through her voice before she masked it with excitement.

I walked over, and before I could even stop, she moved closer to me—subtle, but instinctive.

“You came,” she said, like she hadn’t been completely sure I would.

“I said I would,” I replied lightly.

That seemed to ground her.

Damian was nearby, leaning against the railing, completely at ease like the space belonged to him. His gaze flicked toward me—not lingering long enough for anyone else to notice, but long enough for me to feel it.

“You’re late.”

Of course.

I exhaled, already ready to argue—but he was moving before I could.

He stepped closer, closing the space like it meant nothing.

And then

his hand caught mine.

Not fully. Just my fingers.

A brief, firm stop.

It wasn’t playful.

It wasn’t casual.

It was… intentional.

“Keep up,” he said quietly.

My breath hitched—just for a second.

I pulled my hand back, faster than necessary. “Or you could slow down."

His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes did—something quieter, sharper. Like he noticed exactly what that did to me.

And didn’t mind it.

Yuri was leaning against the wall, one foot pressed back, posture loose but balanced. He looked like he hadn’t put effort into anything—and yet everything about him felt precise.

Dark hair, slightly messy but intentional. A silver chain resting against his collarbone. Rings—minimal, but noticeable when he moved his hands. His oversized tee hung just right, paired with relaxed pants and sneakers that were definitely rare, probably custom.

But it wasn’t just how he looked.

It was how he was.

Calm. Grounded. Like he moved at his own pace while the rest of the world tried to catch up.

And then his eyes met mine.

Softened, just slightly.

“You made it,” he said.

“Barely,” I replied.

A faint smirk touched his lips, like he knew that wasn’t the full story.

We settled onto the steps—not quite symmetrical, not quite close—but close enough to feel like something forming.

Becky sat beside me, still adjusting, still observing in her own way. She laughed when needed, spoke when she found her moment—but she wasn’t forcing herself into the group.

Not yet.

Not like us.

Damian sat on my other side.

Too close.

Not touching—

—but close enough that I could feel the heat of him, steady and distracting.

“You always pick the worst timings,” he muttered.

I turned toward him slightly. “You always complain.”

“And yet you’re still late.”

“And yet you’re still talking.”

His hand moved again.

This time slower.

His fingers brushed against the side of my hand—light, almost testing.

Like he was checking if I’d pull away.

I didn’t.

Not immediately.

And that… half-second pause?

It was enough.

He withdrew first, leaning back like nothing happened.

Like he hadn’t just messed with my heartbeat.

“Careful,” Yuri’s voice cut in, calm but laced with something else.

I looked at him.

He was watching us.

Not obviously.

But knowingly.

“Anya zones out when people annoy her,” he added casually. “Might stop responding completely.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” he said, amused.

Then his gaze shifted to Damian—brief, unreadable… but not disapproving.

If anything—

almost encouraging.

Becky blinked between us, catching the tension but not understanding it. “Okay… I feel like I missed something.”

“Nothing important,” I said quickly.

“Definitely something,” she muttered.

Yuri chuckled under his breath.

Later, Becky got pulled into another conversation, glancing back once before letting herself be carried away.

That left the three of us.

And somehow, that made everything quieter.

Sharper.

We started walking.

Yuri fell into step beside me, close—but not crowding.

As we moved, that familiar scent reached me again—clean, soft… like fresh linen warmed by sunlight, with a faint ocean note beneath it.

It wasn’t strong.

It didn’t demand attention.

But it stayed.

Grounding.

“You’re overthinking again,” he said lightly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I glanced at him. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “It’s written all over your face.”

Before I could argue—

“Anya.”

Damian’s voice came from behind.

Closer than expected.

I turned—

—and almost collided into him.

His hand came up instantly, gripping my arm to steady me.

Firm.

Warm.

This time, he didn’t let go immediately.

My breath caught.

His fingers tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make me aware of every point of contact.

And then—

his thumb moved.

A slow, absent brush against my sleeve.

Once.

Twice.

My heart stuttered.

I should’ve stepped back.

I didn’t.

Yuri noticed.

Of course he did.

But instead of interrupting—

he shifted slightly, creating just enough space for Damian to stand closer.

Like he was… allowing it.

“Careful,” Yuri said, tone easy. “She’s not great with balance.”

I snapped my head toward him. “Excuse me—”

“Prove me wrong,” he added, almost lazily.

Damian’s grip didn’t loosen.

If anything—

it settled.

Like he had no reason to let go.

“You should watch where you’re going,” Damian said.

But his voice had dropped again.

Quieter.

Closer.

“I was,” I replied, though it came out softer than intended.

“Clearly not.”

His hand finally slid away—

slow enough for me to feel the loss of it.

Yuri let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing between us, “she gets distracted around certain people.”

I froze.

Damian’s gaze flicked to him.

Sharp.

Yuri just smirked—subtle, knowing, and completely unbothered.

And then, like nothing had happened, he nudged my shoulder lightly. “Come on.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing my steps to feel normal again.

But nothing was.

Because now—

it wasn’t just a feeling.

It was a pattern.

The way Damian got closer.

The way I didn’t move away.

The way Yuri saw it…

and said nothing.

Something was there.

Something real.

Something already unfolding—

even if I hadn’t admitted it yet.