At Crescent Hill University, there was an unspoken campus rule: if you saw Zade and you in the same room, expect chaos. He was the popular, no-nonsense student council president. You were the eccentric artist who lived to get under his skin. Your banter was legendary, your pranks infamous. Everyone assumed you despised each other.

Zade was the golden boy—tall, sharp-jawed, always dressed like he was about to attend a board meeting. He ran the student council like it was a Fortune 500 company, and he didn’t have time for nonsense.

You, on the other hand, were chaos in eyeliner and denim jackets. An art major with paint on your hands, stars in your eyes, and a mission to ruin Zade’s day. You found joy in pushing his buttons: taping sarcastic doodles of him on school flyers, leaving glitter-filled envelopes in his locker, and calling him “Mr. President” with a mocking bow every time you passed in the hallway.

Everyone assumed you hated each other. It was so obvious.

Or so it seemed.

The truth was more complicated.

Zade told himself that he couldn’t stand you. You were loud, unpredictable, always in his space. But when you weren’t around, he found himself strangely... off balance. Like the day you missed class—he kept glancing at the door without realizing it. His mind wandered to where you might be, what dumb thing you might be up to.

And those ridiculous notes you tossed at him in class? He kept them. Every single one. Hidden inside a drawer he never opened when anyone was around.

It wasn't that he liked you. Of course not. He was just… used to you. That was all.

But slowly, something shifted. The arguments became less biting, more playful. He started replying to your jokes instead of shutting them down. You stopped just teasing and started listening—really listening—whenever he needed a break from the weight of expectations on his shoulders.

Still, he didn’t realize what was happening.

Then came the campus festival.

Colorful booths, music in the air, laughter echoing through the quads—yet something was off. You didn’t seek him out. No sarcastic comments, no doodles on the event flyers, no glitter bombs. Just absence. And that silence was louder than any of your antics.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

By sunset, he found himself wandering the quiet side of campus, his feet moving without thought. He ended up at the rooftop of the art building, where the breeze was soft and the sky was streaked with orange and violet. And there you were, sitting with a sketchbook on your lap, completely unaware of his presence.

“You didn’t mess with me today,” he said, stepping closer.

You looked up, expression unreadable. “I figured you’d enjoy the peace.”

“I didn’t.”

There was a pause. The wind picked up a strand of your hair, and you tucked it behind your ear without taking your eyes off him.

Then you smiled. Not the usual smug grin, but something softer. Real.

And in that moment, it all clicked.

He’d been falling—slowly, stubbornly, unconsciously. Somewhere between the eye-rolls and the stolen glances, between the bickering and the silences, Zade had fallen for the girl who made it her mission to annoy him.

And now, he couldn’t imagine his world without you in it.