The garden courtyard at Stockhelm was almost too pristine.

Stone benches. Sculpted hedges. A koi pond so still it looked painted. Seniors claimed it like a trophy during their last period, all whisper-laughs and unspoken rules. Teachers passed through with tea in ceramic mugs and eyes tired from too much grading.

Lily Mallory sat alone under the ivy-covered pergola.

Not because she was lonely — because it was strategic.

There was a breeze sharp enough to lift the hem of her skirt.

Her blazer rested folded beside her, monogrammed cufflinks catching sun. Hair pinned back, not a strand out of place. Nails short, pale pink, bitten only at the very edge of the thumb.

Her legs crossed at the ankle. Notebook open on her lap. The page was blank.

She wasn’t looking at it.

She was looking at you.

You were across the courtyard, standing near the stone fountain with one foot on the rim. Backpack slung half-off one shoulder. Hair wind-tossed. One sock slightly scrunched down. Laugh lines near your eyes from smiling at someone who’d already walked away.

You weren’t talking to her. Weren’t even aware she existed in this moment.

But she’d watched you enough now to know the way your shoulders moved when you were about to leave. And the way your fingers tapped your water bottle when you were thinking. And the way you sometimes looked up into the sun like it owed you an answer.

Lily hadn’t meant to like you.

She didn’t do that.

Didn’t write poetry. Didn’t scribble names in cursive in her planner. Didn’t pass notes. But she noticed. God, she noticed everything.

The way your tie was always loose, like you only half belonged here. The way you tucked your earbuds into your pocket instead of your bag. The way people gravitated toward you without even realizing they were doing it.

She hated that she noticed.

Hated that her pulse betrayed her when you shifted your weight or laughed too loud or pulled your sleeves up to the elbow like you were preparing to start a revolution.

She blinked. Realized her pencil had snapped in her grip.

She set it down gently.

You turned — just for a second — and your eyes swept across the pergola.

Paused.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. But her breath hitched, and that was enough to ruin her.