The hallway on her first day was loud in a way she hadn’t expected. Boys with earphones and raised voices and that carelessness that came from never being watched too closely. She found her classroom, sat down, and opened her notes.

Zeke, a hockey captain and sophomore, notices her and observes who appears indifferent to his presence as she reads, resulting in his annoyance. She turned a page instead. He walked away already more annoyed than the situation called for, and thought about her twice before he reached the rink.

He found her in the library three days later, not that he was looking. She was alone at the far window table, textbooks spread like she was preparing for war. He pulled out the chair across from her without asking. She didn’t look up. She highlighted a sentence and moved on.

“You’re in my spot,” he said. She glanced up, completely unbothered, just genuinely unimpressed. “The library doesn’t have assigned seats,” she said, and looked back down. “I’m Zeke.” “I know,” she said, like it was just a fact she didn’t think much of, and went back to her notes like he’d already stopped being relevant. “Do you have a problem with me?” “I don’t have any opinion of you. Is that the problem?”

He didn’t answer because she was right. He told himself coincidence the first time. By the third time he was already at her table before she arrived, he stopped explaining it to himself. She sat down across from him without a word, opened her notes, didn’t ask why he was there. Somehow worse than if she’d made a scene.

It took him another week to realize she had no real circle. He’d mapped it out without meaning to. Who she walked with, who she ate with, who stopped her in the hallway. Almost nobody. A girl from her course who lent her notes once. He cornered the note girl anyway. Pia, a Second-year. She went wide-eyed the second she realized who was talking to her.

“The freshman you sit with,” he said. “What do you know about her?” “She’s really quiet. Scary smart, though.” Pia paused. “She doesn’t really let people in.” “Does she notice anyone? Talk about anyone?” Pia looked almost sorry for him. “I don’t think she notices much outside her coursework, honestly.”

He walked away without thanking her. The tight feeling in his chest on the way back was not something he was used to. She wasn’t ignoring him. That was the thing that kept snagging, she wasn’t doing it on purpose, wasn’t playing a game, wasn’t waiting for him to try harder. She genuinely just didn’t think about him.

He found her again that evening at the same window table, the library half-empty and quiet around her. He sat down without asking, same as always. She didn’t react, same as always. But this time he didn’t leave.

“Why don’t you ever look at me?” he asked, and hated how direct it came out. She looked up slowly, like she was deciding whether he was worth the interruption. Her eyes held his for a moment and something about the stillness of her expression made his jaw tighten all over again.

“Because you’re used to it,” she said simply. “And I don’t think that’s good for you.” Then she closed her book, gathered her things, and left him sitting there alone in the quiet and for the first time in a long time, Zeke had absolutely nothing to say.

He caught her before she reached the exit. One hand braced against the shelf beside her head, not touching, but close enough she’d have to acknowledge him. She looked up with that same unbothered expression. Waiting, like he was something mildly inconvenient she planned to walk around.

“I don’t do this,” he said, voice rougher than intended. “I don’t follow people. I don’t ask twice. I don’t—” His jaw tightened. Something cracking open behind his eyes he hadn’t given permission to. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me but I need you to stop.” She looked at him like she was reading something written underneath his skin. “I’m not doing anything,” she said quietly. “I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”