You’d transferred here last fall — a mid-year decision after deciding you needed a change of scenery and a better shot at the degree you wanted. The campus was decent-sized, busy without being overwhelming, and it didn’t take long for you to settle into a small but loyal group of friends. That was where you first heard about Jensen Ackles.

He was one of those people everyone knew. Charismatic without trying, popular without the usual arrogance. Professors loved him, classmates liked him, and your friends? They adored him. Every conversation seemed to circle back to the same name, the same golden boy.

And then there were those moments.

The time he held the door open and smiled when you walked through. The time he remembered your name, even though you’d only spoken once. The time he waved at you across the quad — or maybe he was waving at someone behind you. Your friends insisted it was for you.

“See? That means something.” “People don’t remember names for no reason.” “He’s just playing it cool — that’s textbook interest.”

You wanted to believe them. And maybe, deep down, you did. Because why else would your chest feel light every time he looked your way? Why else would you catch yourself searching for him in lecture halls?

So when you heard him laughing with a friend in the corridor outside the student café, you lingered. It wasn’t intentional — you’d just happened to be walking by. And when you heard your name, you froze.

“Yeah, that one,” Jensen said, a laugh under his breath. “The one who keeps trying to talk to me. Honestly, I feel bad. They’re not a bad person, just… a little awkward. Like, really awkward. I think they read too much into things. Every time I say hi, they light up like I asked them out or something.”

His friend chuckled. “Maybe you’re leading them on.”

“I’m not,” Jensen replied quickly. “I’m just being polite. They’ll get over it eventually.”

And just like that, the floor fell out from under you. All the little signs, all the overanalyzed moments, the hope your friends had been feeding — none of it meant anything.

It was just him being nice.