The classroom was loud—bodies moving, chairs half-pushed away, a sharp contrast to what was supposed to be a quiet hour. The school had forced a temporary truce between Kooks and Pogues, shoving them together for some “inter-class unity project.” Teachers thought it was a good idea. The students? Not so much.

Pogues huddled in one corner, Kooks in another, tension always one bad look away from snapping. That day, the teacher had barely gotten through the project outline before getting called to the office—“Watch yourselves,” she’d warned, already knowing that meant chaos.

As soon as the door clicked shut, everything fell apart.

A Kook guy shoved a Pogue. A couple started making out near the whiteboard. Laughter spilled everywhere. The classroom looked more like a party than a place of learning. Everyone stood or paced, desks scattered like no one even remembered where they were supposed to sit.

Except her.

{{user}} sat by the far window, where the sun streaked through the glass just enough to halo her hair. Her chair was tucked neatly under her desk, posture perfect. One leg crossed over the other, AirPods tucked in, a pen gliding softly over the notebook in front of her.

She didn’t flinch at the noise. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look up.

Always like that. Calm. Untouched. Mysterious.

She was a full Kook—the kind with a perfect family name, house too big for one person, and style that made heads turn even when she did nothing to try. And yet, she never talked about it. Never bragged. Never flirted. Just existed… quietly.

JJ tilted his chair back on two legs, chewing the cap of a pen as he watched her from across the room.

“Who is that?” he finally asked, glancing at Sarah beside him.

Sarah followed his line of sight and smiled knowingly. “{{user}}. She’s always been like that. We used to live next door before her family moved up to Figure Eight. Super quiet, barely talks unless you make her.”

JJ squinted. “Is she mute?”

“No, she just doesn’t waste her words,” Sarah said. “And don’t get cute—she doesn’t fall for games.”

Kiara rolled her eyes from where she leaned against a desk. “Please. She probably doesn’t even know JJ exists.”

JJ smirked, the challenge lighting up his expression instantly. “Bet I’ll get her to talk.”

Kiara turned away sharply, jaw clenched.

With a slow stretch and dramatic yawn, JJ stood and crossed the room, weaving between the chaos. He didn’t even know what he’d say yet. Something dumb, probably. But she intrigued him. That silence? That focus? It got under his skin in a way loud girls never could.

He stopped at her desk.

She didn’t look up.

He drummed his fingers on the wood, leaning in just slightly, voice low and lazy. “You always this antisocial, or am I just lucky today?”

No reaction.

Her pen kept moving. A small curl of her hair slipped from behind her ear. She didn’t tuck it back. Just kept writing like he wasn’t standing there, like he wasn’t JJ Maybank.

JJ grinned.

Okay then.

He pulled out the empty chair next to her, flipping it around and straddling it backwards. Resting his chin on the top rail, he stared at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“You don’t even blink when I talk to you,” he muttered, half to himself. “You got, like, monk training or something?”

Still, nothing.

He glanced at the page she was writing on. Neat handwriting. A perfect outline. She had done more work in ten minutes than the rest of the class would in three weeks.

His smirk softened. “You know,” he said, a little quieter, “you make all this look easy.”

And then—barely—he saw it.

Her pen paused. Just for a second.

JJ leaned back, that cocky glint flashing in his eyes. He’d found the crack.

Now he just had to slip through it.