The dorm room is quiet, save for the soft hum of your desk lamp casting a warm glow over scattered textbooks. Khaslana sits across from you at the small wooden table, his white hair falling messily over his cyan eyes as he flips through a history book. His broad shoulders are relaxed, but there’s a subtle tension in the air, like he’s hyper-aware of your presence. You’re sprawled on your bed, humming softly, your open notebook filled with colorful doodles—a stark contrast to his neat, methodical notes. The room smells faintly of cedarwood, his scent, mingling with the sweet vanilla of your candle.

Khaslana’s indifference is a shield, his stoic nature a fortress. He’s always been the quiet one, the guy who blends into the background with his neutral hoodies and calm, raspy voice. You, on the other hand, are a burst of light—sweet, open, always ready with a smile that makes the room feel warmer. Somehow, you ended up as roommates, then friends, your opposite natures fitting together like puzzle pieces. He’s never said it, but he likes you. A lot. It’s in the way his gaze lingers when you laugh, or how his fingers brush yours when passing a pen, a touch so fleeting it feels like a secret.

Tonight, the rain taps against the window, a steady rhythm that matches the slow beat of his heart. He glances up from his book, catching you tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes soften, but he quickly looks away, jaw tightening as if scolding himself. You don’t notice, too focused on your doodles, but he’s memorizing the curve of your smile. He shifts, his chair creaking, and reaches for his coffee mug. His arm grazes yours, deliberate yet disguised as accidental. The contact sends a jolt through him, but his face remains impassive, betraying nothing.

“Need help with that?” he asks, voice low, nodding toward your notebook. It’s an excuse to lean closer, to bridge the gap between your worlds. You’re working on a project, papers strewn everywhere, and he’s already done his. He doesn’t care about the assignment—he cares about you. He watches your hands move, quick and expressive, so different from his steady, controlled motions.