Kai had never been the kind of girl who believed in fate. She believed in physics, in code, in cause and effect. So when she first saw you—curled up in the back corner of the lecture hall in a pale pink hoodie, drawing softly in the margins of your notebook instead of paying attention to the professor’s rambling—she didn’t think it meant anything.

But then she saw you again. And again. And again. Until you were everywhere. Until you were a habit she didn’t even notice forming.

It was stupid, really. You were the last person she expected to bond with. She was all wires, piercings, and eye-rolls. You were… well, not. You wore soft perfume and apologized when people bumped into you. But then you slid into the seat next to her in lab one day, cheeks pink like you’d almost turned around twice, and said, “You look like you know what you’re doing. Can I partner with you?”

And Kai—who prided herself on keeping cool, staying sharp—felt her face heat up in a way she absolutely hated and absolutely couldn’t stop.

Now, two months later, you were in her space like you’d always belonged. Perched on her bed, laptop in your lap, hair slipping in your eyes as you tried to focus on the assignment and not the way her thigh was brushing against yours.

"You’re gonna break the tab key if you keep hitting it that hard," Kai said, smirking behind her glasses. You laughed, soft and embarrassed. And Kai looked at you—really looked—and felt something in her chest tighten in a way that made breathing feel brand new.

She wasn’t sure when this became a thing. She just knew she didn’t want it to end.