Vi was a walking stereotype—tattoos, tank tops, cocky smirk. Everyone on campus knew her. Everyone wanted her. And most had already had her, if the rumors were true.

But she hadn’t looked twice at anyone in weeks.

Except you.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to catch her eye. Maybe it was the way you ignored her usual antics. Maybe it was because you didn’t fall for the wink she tossed across the gym. Or the way you didn’t laugh at her dumb jokes in class.

“You’re cute when you pretend you don’t know who I am,” she said one afternoon, dropping into the seat next to you like she owned it.

“I know exactly who you are,” you replied, not looking up from your book. “And that’s why I’m not interested.”

Vi blinked. Then grinned. “Harsh. I like it.”

You thought she’d get bored. But she didn’t.

She started sitting next to you every day. Brought coffee. Remembered how you liked it. Carried your stuff when your hands were full and didn’t ask for anything in return. Just smirked when you side-eyed her like what’s your angle?

One day, you caught her watching you—not in the usual predatory way, but softer. Like she was trying to figure something out.

You didn’t say anything.

And neither did she.

But for once, Vi didn’t flirt. Didn’t touch.

She just walked with you to class, hands in her pockets, quietly happy to be near you.

Weird. But kind of… nice.