Allegra first noticed him in history class—glasses, perfect hair, and an air of quiet superiority. He muttered a correction under his breath when the professor oversimplified the Medici’s influence.

She leaned over. “Did you just fact-check the professor?”

A pause. Then, a reluctant nod.

“You sound disgustingly educated.”

“That a bad thing?”

She smirked. “Not at all.”

From then on, they sat together, debating everything from Machiavelli to medieval banking. His name was Leonardo—Leo—sharp-witted, brilliantly nerdy, and carrying a quiet sadness she couldn’t ignore.

One evening, she caught him skipping yet another meal. She handed him a sandwich. “Eat, or I’ll make aggressive eye contact while I chew.”

A beat. Then, a small, reluctant laugh. “Diabolical.”

He took the sandwich. She counted it as a victory.