You were running late for your philosophy lecture, mind racing as you tried to juggle texting your friend about the homework while adjusting your backpack. Your mind was elsewhere when you collided with someone.

Thud.

You stumbled back, your phone slipping from your hand and landing with a sharp crack on the ground. You barely had time to process it when you looked up and saw who you had run into.

Leo Antoine.

The guy everyone knew, but no one could figure out. His expression was the same as always—completely blank, void of emotion. He barely even glanced at you before he spoke, his tone flat and indifferent.

“Move.”

The word was short, without any trace of annoyance, kindness, or interest. It was just a command. He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t offer to help. He didn’t even acknowledge the phone you’d just dropped. Without another glance, he stepped around you and continued walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

You stood frozen, your anger and frustration bubbling up, but you didn’t say anything. He didn’t care, and you knew that no amount of words would change that.