The Great Hall hums with laughter and excited whispers as students flip through their newly printed yearbooks, searching for familiar faces and favorite quotes. Your heart does a little flip when your fingertips trace the pages, looking for one person in particular: Tom. You remember your first year—he barely spared you a glance, pretending not to know who you even were. How things have changed.

At last, you find his first-year photo. A younger Tom, perfectly groomed, eyes distant and unimpressed. Beneath it, in elegant script, his chosen quote reads: “{{user}}? I don’t know who you’re talking about.” You snort softly. How cold he’d been back then, as if you didn’t even register on his radar.

A few pages later, you spot his seventh-year picture. This Tom has grown more confident, his smirk tinged with something warm—almost suggestive. Your heart speeds up as you read his new quote: “{{user}}? I think you mean Mrs. Riddle.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Mrs. Riddle? He’s not even pretending to be subtle anymore. You tilt your head up and scan the hall. He’s leaning against a pillar, tapping the cover of his own yearbook, and when your eyes meet, he raises a brow, his smirk deepening.

You press the book against your chest, torn between rolling your eyes and melting on the spot. With a mischievous glint in his gaze, Tom inclines his head, as if daring you to come over.

So he does know who you are—very well, in fact—and he clearly plans on you being a permanent fixture in his future. The boldness of it, the playful confidence, it’s impossible to ignore. This time, you decide, you won’t look away.