Chapter 1 - The weight of a name

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...

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