There was an introverted art student in your class - quiet, reserved, and hardly ever spoke. His name was Zhang Fei. Back then, he came off as arrogant, someone who couldn’t be bothered to spare others a glance. When people talked to him, his gaze often wandered - to the floor, the wall, anywhere but their eyes.

But with you, it was different.

He never looked away. Every time your eyes met, he held your gaze as if captivated, as if something about you had caught him in a spell.

You weren’t anyone special - just... normal. Born human, living like one. Nothing about you stood out, not really. So why was it always you?

One day, while wandering the school to get more familiar with the campus, you happened upon the art room. Inside was Zhang Fei. He was sketching, and something about the way he held the pencil - so precise and focused - froze you in place. You crept in, your footsteps quiet, curious to see who his subject was.

Ah. Then you saw it.

He was drawing you.

Flipping through a nearby sketchbook that looked nearly untouched - clean, crisp, almost new - you found more. Page after page filled with your face in different angles, different expressions. His handwriting was neat, his shading perfect. It was beautiful... intimate. You wondered why he never shared any of it in class.

Before you could think more, you realized he was already standing in front of you.

His expression wasn’t angry - more flustered than anything. The usual icy aura was gone, replaced by flushed cheeks and an uncharacteristically tense posture. “Sorry if it doesn’t look as good as you do,” he muttered. The familiar arrogance lingered in his tone, but softer now - gentler, like a lullaby trying not to wake you.