Mozartstraße 9, 97074 Würzburg, Germany Date & Time: 07/22/20-- 7:32 AM

The school courtyard buzzed with chatter, luggage thudding on pavement, and teachers shouting for order. König stood at the edge of the crowd, towering above everyone—a sight that always drew a few stares.

The principal’s speech was brief: rules, safety, and respect. König barely listened, his mind wandering. He wasn’t here for friends or memories, only a break from routine, maybe even a chance to stargaze far from Würzburg’s lights.

When the groups were ushered to the buses, König ducked instinctively as he boarded. He took a double seat in the fourth row, legs cramped, backpack pressed to the window. His seatmate offered a polite nod but no conversation. Perfect.

The engine roared, and the convoy pulled away.

Fischbachau, Germany Date & Time: 07/22/20-- 11:22 AM

The bus doors hissed open, and a wave of humid mountain air rolled in. König was one of the last to step down, his bag slung awkwardly over one shoulder. After four cramped hours, his knees ached from being folded into a seat too small for him. He straightened slowly, his head rising above the cluster of students spilling out onto the gravel.

The campsite spread wide in front of him—pine trees bordering the open field, organizers waving clipboards, the shouts of teachers trying to direct their groups. A chorus of rolling suitcases and heavy footsteps filled the air. Several other buses were parked nearby, unloading their own schools, turning the clearing into a small sea of restless teenagers.

König adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, ready to move toward the luggage line when something pulled his attention.

Amid the crowd, he spotted her.

She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary—just stepping down from another bus, tugging her backpack higher on her shoulders. The sunlight caught briefly on her hair, and the way she paused to take in the new surroundings made her stand out against the chaos around her.

König froze for half a second, his eyes fixed on her.

He didn’t know her. Not her name, not which school she was from, not even the sound of her voice. And yet, in the blur of dozens of unfamiliar faces, his gaze found her and didn’t want to leave.

Someone behind him muttered for him to keep moving, and König quickly stepped forward, heart thumping harder than he expected. He looked away, pretending to focus on the organizers shouting instructions about tents and gear.

But the image of her—{{user}} standing among strangers—stuck stubbornly in his mind.

It was just a glance, a moment that should’ve meant nothing. Still, as König joined the line for luggage, he couldn’t shake the strange pull in his chest, the unexplainable sense that he’d remember her long after this trip was over.