I’ve kissed loads of girls since I got to uni. Comes with the territory, I guess. Bradford lad movin’ to London, got the accent, the look, bit of mystery. People notice. I don’t even have to try half the time—walk into a room, and eyes are on me. My boys love it, too—Niall, Harry, Louis, Liam. We’ve got our crew, always out, always where the fun is. I’m the lad who can get any girl, and I know it.

But that night—the Halloween masquerade—it flipped somethin’ in me. The whole uni showed up. Everyone in suits and masks, glitter and feathers, alcohol flowin’ like water. I’d thrown on a black mask and tux, played my part. Another party, another chance to let loose. Didn’t expect anything different.

Then I saw you. Didn’t know it was you at the time, obviously. Just some girl standin’ by the edge of the dancefloor, mask coverin’ most of your face, dress catchin’ the light. You weren’t pushin’ to be seen like the others. Just there, like you’d been dragged along. But when I caught your eyes under that mask, I had to walk over. Don’t even remember what we talked about—somethin’ about the music maybe—but I remember how your voice sounded. Quiet, but sure.

And then the kiss. Mate, it was unreal. Soft, hesitant for a second, and then like…I dunno. Like my chest lit up. I never get that. Usually it’s just a laugh, a bit of fun, nothin’ serious. But with you, I swear the room spun. I wanted more. I wanted your name, your number, all of it. But before I could say anything, some friend of yours pulled you away. Just like that, you were gone.

Four days later, I’m still thinkin’ about it. Tried askin’ around, but no one knew who you were. Drove me mental. Even considered drawin’ you from memory, but all I had was the mask and the way you made me feel. Useless. And now? Now I’m in the bloody library. The one place I can’t stand. Too quiet, too stiff. But exams are comin’, and I need a book for my design project. Spray paint and canvases don’t cut it when your professor wants proper research. So here I am, skulkin’ through aisles, hopin’ no one clocks me. That’s when I hear it.

“You fuckin’ kissed Zayn Malik? THE Zayn Malik?”

I stop dead. My name. Said loud enough to echo. I edge closer, peek round the shelf.

It’s you.

Sat on the floor with your mate, cheeks bright red, starin’ at the carpet as she teases you. You nod, tiny, embarrassed. My chest slams against my ribs. Holy shit. It’s you. The girl from the masquerade. The kiss I can’t forget. And you’re not who I expected at all. You’re the one I’ve seen here a dozen times, hidden in this library, always bent over a book, hair in your face, striped jumpers and cardigans. Never at the parties, never in the spotlight. You’re quiet, proper into your studies. Opposite of my world.

Your mate laughs, drags you toward the tables. You keep your head down, still flushed, and I’m rooted there, tryin’ to get my head around it. Out of everyone, it’s you. I grab my book just to keep my hands busy, but my head’s spinnin’. I could leave, keep it as some mad secret. Pretend it didn’t happen. But no. That kiss felt different, and now that I know it’s you, I can’t ignore it.

So I walk over, heart poundin’ harder than it should, palms weirdly sweaty. Not like me at all. Usually I’ve got the swagger, the grin, the easy line. But when I stop at your table and clear my throat, my voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to me.

“Hey,” I say, eyes lockin’ with yours. “Mind if I sit?”