Some glimpses of the story.....
The renovation hall was louder now.
Not chaotic—but alive.
Students moved between tables, arranging sketches, testing ideas, discussing space with hesitant confidence. The air carried a mix of paint, dust, and anticipation.
At the center, the professors stood slightly back, watching carefully.
“Keep the materials organized,” one professor reminded. “Do not interfere with Mr. Laurent’s walkthrough.”
“Yes, sir— I mean, yes, professor,” a student corrected quickly.
---
At the far end of the hall, he moved through the space.
Slow steps. Controlled pace.
His eyes scanned everything—light direction, structural flow, unused corners, wasted space.
He stopped once.
“Remove that partition,” he said.
A staff member nodded immediately. “Yes, Mr. Laurent.”
No discussion followed.
Because there was nothing uncertain in his tone.
---
Near the side corridor—
she was still unaware of all of this.
The FL stood with a small group of art students, reviewing materials placed on a long table.
Paint buckets. Brushes. Boards. Cloth sheets.
Her friend leaned over.
“They’re treating this like a military operation,” she whispered.
She didn’t look up.
“It’s a live project,” she replied. “It should be treated seriously.”
Her fingers adjusted the edge of a canvas sheet.
Focused.
Calm.
Unaware of the movement beginning just a few meters away.
---
“Mr. Laurent will pass through this section next,” a professor’s voice echoed.
The students instinctively shifted aside.
A pathway opened through the corridor.
---
At the same time—
“Careful! Don’t stack that there—”
The warning came too late.
A paint bucket near the table had been slightly misaligned. A student brushed past it without noticing.
It tilted.
Slowly at first.
Then—
It slipped.
“Wait—!”
---
The FL turned instinctively at the sound.
The bucket wobbled at the edge of the table.
A step backward.
She moved forward at the same time.
Wrong timing.
Wrong angle.
Wrong second.
Her foot caught the uneven edge of a small step near the material area.
Her balance broke.
The world tilted.
The paint bucket fell.
And everything happened at once.
---
“Stop—!”
Someone shouted.
But the FL had already lost her footing.
She stumbled forward—
straight into the path of the moving figure entering the corridor.
---
He didn’t see her in time.
It was too sudden.
A shift of movement. A step into his path.
No space to react.
No time to avoid.
Impact.
---
The paint bucket hit the ground first.
A loud splash echoed through the hall.
Color exploded across the floor—
black, deep blue, and scattered streaks of white mixing instantly into chaos.
Then—
she collided into him.
---
For a moment, everything stopped.
No sound.
No movement.
Just stillness.
The FL froze, breath caught, eyes wide.
She didn’t even understand what had happened yet.
Something solid beneath her. A presence she had crashed into.
The ML, equally stunned, instinctively steadied himself—but the momentum had already pulled both of them off balance.
They fell together.
Not harshly.
Not violently.
Just completely unexpected.
---
Paint spread everywhere.
On the floor.
On her clothes.
On his shirt, sleeves, hands.
A chaotic mixture of color marking both of them in the same moment.
Silence followed.
---
The hall froze.
Professors.
Students.
Even the workers at the far end.
All of them stopped.
One student slowly raised a hand to their mouth.
Another whispered:
“…Oh no.”
A friend of the FL stood frozen.
One hand on her head.
The other trembling slightly.
“I don’t know her,” she muttered instantly.
---
On the ground—
the FL slowly lifted her head.
Still confused.
Still trying to process what she had fallen into.
Her eyes finally met his.
---
He was looking at her
Not shocked in a loud way.
Just still.
Processing.
Paint dripping slightly from his clothes.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
he spoke.
«“That… was unexpected.”»
---
The FL blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then whispered, completely lost:
«“…I’m sorry… I didn’t— I didn’t see—”»
She tried to move.
Slipped slightly again.
More paint spread.
Someone in the background made a sound like they were about to faint.
---
The ML exhaled slowly.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
Just acceptance of reality.
Then, still looking at the mess around them, he said:
«“I assume this is part of the campus welcome protocol.”»
A pause.
The FL froze again.
---
From somewhere behind them, a professor finally found his voice:
«“M-Mr. Laurent… are you alright?”»
The FL’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Mr. Laurent?”
The name echoed.
But she didn’t fully process it yet.
Not in this moment.
Not with paint on her hands.
Not while still on the floor.
---
And in that silence—
the first thread between them had already been formed.
Not romance.
Not understanding.
"Just their first meeting collided with a bucket of paint."
"A splash of Color. An unexpected meeting. Was this the beginning of their love story? Read LOVE WRITTEN BY COLORS to find out."
