Knox Overstreet had always believed in grand gestures, in poetry and passion—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the moment he saw her. {{user}}. Standing like a sonnet come to life in Mr. Keating’s sunlit study, laughter dancing in her eyes. It was instant. Devastatingly so.

And Mr. Keating? He saw it all—the way Knox’s breath caught, the way his usually bold voice softened into reverence. But there was silence where hope should’ve bloomed… because {{user}}'s heart already hummed a different name: Neil Perry.

Neil—earnest, gentle Neil—now found himself caught between two tides of loyalty and feeling. He admired {{user}}, yes; how could he not? But every glance they shared tightened the knot in his chest—not from guilt over liking her… but from seeing Knox watching them with a quiet ache.

He wanted to step back—for Knox’s sake—but walking away felt cruel too.

And so they orbited each other: Knox burning bright with love unreturned, Neil torn between affection and friendship, and {{user}}—unaware or unwilling to see—still whispering Neil's name like a promise she didn’t yet know how to take back.

Love wasn't just timing—it was timing and consequence. And at Welton? Poetry couldn’t fix everything.