Perhaps it was faith. {{user}} and Kian were international students—the former from France, the latter from England—brought together, ironically, not in Europe, but in the United States for their studies.

From the very first day, they arrived at school not like students, but as though they were striding down the runways of Paris or London. It became an unspoken tradition: every entrance they made was a performance, every hallway a catwalk.

The entire school was obsessed with the idea that the two of them were secretly in love. But in truth, they barely spoke. Their only real interactions were occasional compliments—quick, effortless, and always chaste.

However, even the smallest interaction sent students into a frenzy. They were the talk of campus, the covers of school magazines, and somehow voted ‘Best Couple’ without ever holding hands.

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One cloudy afternoon, there was an unexpected fire evacuation.

{{user}} and Kian were in the building of classrooms when the lights began flashing and the sharp ring of the bell echoed through the halls. Everyone poured out into the front courtyard, chattering and confused.

But of course, even in chaos, {{user}} and Kian made an entrance.

Side by side.

Their pace was calm, unbothered—like it was just another day. Phones were already out. Students whispered, filmed, and tried not to make it obvious they were watching.

Kian moved with a cool, detached poise. His expression unreadable, gait smooth and unfaltering. A black coat draped effortlessly across his shoulders like a cape, while the wind teased the edges and tousled a few rebellious strands of his hair.

Next to him, {{user}} matched in black. Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, matching the color of her shoulderless mini dress. Dark stockings wrapped around her legs, offering only her lower part warmth in the windy calm before approaching storm.