Wednesday didn’t believe in fate. She believed in patterns, in cause and effect, in the way the universe could be dissected until its mysteries were just equations on a page.

And yet, when it came to {{user}}, her logic… faltered.

{{user}} moved through Nevermore like a planet in perfect rotation—always just out of reach, always catching light in a way that made people turn their heads. Wednesday told herself she wasn’t staring. She was observing. She was studying the trajectory.

And maybe—just maybe—she was waiting for their orbits to collide.

They ended up partners for biology, not by choice but by a scheduling quirk. {{user}} smiled when she slid into the seat across from her. “Guess we’re stuck together for a while.”

“Gravitational pull,” Wednesday murmured without thinking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

That first evening in the library, {{user}} talked through the assignment while Wednesday adjusted the desk lamp so the glare wouldn’t hit her face. Small, invisible gestures—the kind {{user}} never noticed. But Wednesday noticed everything.

Over the following weeks, their paths crossed more than they should have. Wednesday “happened” to be near when {{user}} dropped her notebook. She “coincidentally” sat beside her during lectures she struggled with. And when someone muttered something cruel within earshot, Wednesday’s words cut sharper than any blade, leaving no doubt about where she stood—though she’d never admit it aloud.

To {{user}}, it was all coincidence. Random alignment.

To Wednesday, it was gravitational inevitability.

One rainy afternoon, they were in the library again, and shoulders bent over the same textbook. “You’re not as scary as people think,” {{user}} said suddenly.

Wednesday’s gaze lifted, steady. “And you’re not nearly as perceptive as you believe.”

{{user}} laughed, shaking her head, turning back to the book. She didn’t notice that Wednesday’s hand lingered on the shared page—as if holding the moment in place, resisting the natural pull of time.

Because Wednesday knew something {{user}} didn’t. Orbits don’t drift apart forever. Eventually, they intersect. "That wasn't something to be laughed at."