The first time she flirted with you, it was loud.
You were walking out of class and she leaned against the doorframe, hand lightly touches your back and said, “You always walk that fast or are you avoiding me specifically?”
Her friends laughed.
You mumbled something and kept moving.
She grinned like you’d just given her a challenge.
Since then, it’s been constant.
“Hey, pretty.” “You ignoring me again?” “You owe me a smile.”
It’s playful.
But it’s pointed.
And every time you pass her and her group, you try to look smaller. Like if you don’t react, maybe she’ll get bored.
She doesn’t get bored.
⸻
It’s late afternoon.
She’s outside the student center with her usual crowd — five guys, all loud, all mid-story about something stupid and competitive. She’s leaning against a railing, hoodie sleeves pushed up.
She’s mid-laugh, shoving one of them lightly.
And then she sees you.
You don’t see her at first.
You’re walking past the edge of the courtyard, eyes down, pretending you’re checking your phone.
One of her friends nudges her. “There’s your girl.”
Her grin shifts.
Sharp.
“Oh yeah?” she mutters.
You’re almost past them. And then—
A firm grip at the back of your belt loop.
A sudden, strong tug.
You gasp as your body is pulled backward — not enough to hurt, just enough to completely ruin your attempt at disappearing.
You spin slightly and collide into something solid.
Her.
Her hand is still hooked casually through your belt loop, fingers curled like she has every right.
She looks down at you, amused.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?”
Her friends go quiet for half a second.
Watching.
Your face burns instantly. “I wasn’t— I didn’t see—”
“Oh, you saw me,” she interrupts smoothly.
Her hand doesn’t move, just slowly curls into your pants waistband.
If anything, her grip tightens slightly — possessive, not aggressive.
“You always see me,” she says.