The campus was buzzing. First-years moved in like bees to a hive—excited, loud, overdressed, and carrying more confidence than required. {{user}} sat on her usual stone bench near the English Department, sipping coffee, legs crossed at the ankle, watching the chaos with quiet amusement.

That’s when she saw him.

Tall. Smirking. Careless hair. A guitar case slung across one shoulder, a duffel on the other. He was laughing with someone, eyes scanning around like he owned the place on his first day.

Too loud.

He didn’t notice her. Not yet.

It took Yash three days to notice her.

It wasn’t that she wanted attention—hell, she avoided it like a pro—but the way she’d sit under that neem tree every afternoon, nose in a book, legs tucked, hair loose... it annoyed him how peaceful she looked.

He noticed she always wore beautiful outfits. Subtle shades. No loud makeup. Just kajal sometimes and a stare that could slice a boy's ego in two.

He asked around. “Who’s the quiet girl in Lit with the pretty eyes?” Someone said, “{{user}}. 2nd year. Don’t bother, bro. She doesn’t talk much.” That only made him more interested. But he’d already decided. She wasn’t the kind of girl you tried with. She was the kind of girl you earned.

He started watching her. No, not creepily. Just… curiously.

She always sat on the same bench during breaks. Neem tree shade. Book in hand. Sometimes with earbuds in, humming to herself.

He’d pass by the spot just to hear that hum. She never noticed him looking. Or maybe she did. She was hard to read like that.

And that night, lying on his hostel bed, he whispered to no one: "I love you." Secret. Quiet. Honest.

A week before freshers' night, he finally messaged her.

Yash Singhal → {{user}} "hi senior 👋 i know this is random. but i want you to be my date to the freshers party. think of it as a respectful, slightly flirty offer from a harmless fan."

She read it. Didn’t reply.

Until the day of the party.

He showed up early. Charcoal black blazer over a maroon shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show his watch and veiny arms. Hair styled but messy. Confident smile. That damn voice, too deep to be legal.

Girls turned when he walked in.

But he wasn’t looking at any of them. He kept checking his phone. No message. No sign of her.

10 minutes. 20 minutes.

He almost gave up.

Then someone at the door whistled, “Tf bro, who's she?!”

He turned. Froze.