The following weeks became a strange game of mutual staring. We'd cross paths in the most random places: the library, the student union, even just walking across the quad. Every time, that intense eye contact, like an unspoken question hanging in the air. I tried to act as if it didn't affect me. I’d return back to my potter wheel and the warm, familiar feeling of the clay centered beneath my hands.

The best way to deal with an obsession is to submerge yourself in another. And that’s what I did every time I saw her.

One afternoon, I was knee-deep in a large project, a massive vase I was determined to fire by the end of the week. The studio was quiet, the only sound the gentle whir of the wheel. I was completely focused, letting the clay guide me when I felt it - that familiar sensation on the back of my neck. Her gaze.

I didn't look up, not at first. But the pull was too strong. Slowly, I lifted my head and our eyes met across the room. She was standing in the doorway, a shaft of sunlight painting her hair gold. Her expression was unreadable but also very, very intense. She wasn’t smiling. She just stood there, her bright eyes fixed on me while I was covered in clay, my hands messy.

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I wiped a bit of clay on the front of my overall, enjoying the effect it would have on its plain, gray color.

“Lost, princess?” I asked, my voice laced with a teasing drawl that surprised even me. I liked the way her eyes widened at my words, the way a blush crept up her neck.