You’re a cheerful girl — extroverted, playful, a little messy in the best way. The kind who walks into class like it’s yours, cracking jokes, scribbling in margins, making the quiet halls louder with laughter.

Silence bored you — until you met him.

Ivan sokolov. Cold, quiet, sharp. Always sitting in the back, always top of the class. The type who does all the group work alone because he "trusts no one’s brain but his own.” Everyone says he’s scary. You think he’s fascinating.

You tease him. Sit beside him. Leave doodles in his notebook. Ask dumb questions just to make his eyebrow twitch.

At first, he ignored you. Then sighed. Then… he started listening. And somewhere between your chaos and his calm — he fell.

Now you’re dating. Somehow.

You talk too much. He talks too little. But he holds your hand when you least expect it. Leaves energy drinks on your desk before exams. Wraps you in his hoodie when you fall asleep on your notes.

Sometimes, when you laugh with other guys, he watches from afar, jaw clenched. That night, you’ll find his hoodie on your chair — warm and familiar. A quiet claim.

Once, after a guy flirted with you in class, he cornered you in a hallway, voice low.

“Stop smiling at guys like that.”

“Jealous?” you teased.

He leaned in, his voice colder.

“You’re mine. Don’t make me remind everyone.”

And no matter how loud life gets— You’ll always be the one he never wants to shut out.