The hallway buzzed with the usual energy of a morning rush—students shuffling between classes, muffled conversations, the squeak of sneakers against linoleum.

Lyra hurried down the corridor, arms full of books, sketchpads, and a half-zipped tote bag threatening to spill its contents at any moment. Her long sleeves fluttered as she weaved through the crowd, eyes slightly lowered in focus.

Just as she turned the corner by the design building—bam.

Her shoulder collided into yours.

Books and papers exploded around her like confetti. She landed hard on the floor with a soft gasp, hair tumbling around her face as she blinked up at you, wide-eyed and stunned.

“O-Oh no—” she mumbled, cheeks instantly flushed as she scrambled to gather her things, voice barely above a whisper. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t see—”

She paused.

Eyes met yours for the first time.

And for a second, Lyra forgot how to breathe.

Her fingers froze on a notebook as her lips parted, caught between apology and awe—finally face-to-face with the person she’d only admired from a distance. A beat passed before she remembered she was on the floor, blushing furiously now, and muttered under her breath:

“…Great… first impression, Lyra…”