Adhitya didn’t know her name.

Not yet.

He saw her before he really saw her.

At first, just the usual rhythm of the morning—same street, same light, same vague rush of the world waking up. But then she walked out of her gate, earpods in, sunlight catching the edges of her cheekbones. She didn’t look up. Just adjusted the strap of her bag, head slightly tilted to one side like she was listening to something that hurt beautifully.

He stood a few meters away, leaning against his bike like he wasn’t waiting for her. Like he wasn’t rearranging his route just to see her pass by.

The trees above moved with her, leaves rustling like even they paused to watch. The way her hair floated behind her, the way her fingers brushed a jasmine bush without stopping, like muscle memory—he couldn’t explain it, but something in him just… paused.

She looked unreachable. Like a poem written in a language he didn’t know yet, but still made his chest ache.

She crossed the street without noticing him—of course she didn’t. She always walked like she had a world of her own, soft and sealed shut. But today, as she passed, the sun caught her for a second. And she smiled at something—maybe a line in the song, maybe a thought in her head. But it hit him like a slow wave.

But in that moment, he knew she was the kind of girl who could ruin him without ever touching him.