You met Anthony when you transferred to Veil University in your second year.

Your old university hadn’t been kind. Whispers, side-eyes, the kind of bullying that made you shrink into yourself. So when you arrived at Veil Uni, you decided to do one thing only: lay low, be invisible. No attention. No trouble. Just survive.

Anthony was the opposite of that.

A delinquent—by reputation, at least. Loosened tie, sharp stare, the kind of guy people avoided without really knowing why. Somehow, you kept ending up in the same classes as him. Almost every year. Same row. Same general area.

What you didn’t know was that this wasn’t coincidence.

He’d made it happen—rearranged class orders, intimidated people into switching seats, all just to stay near you. Everyone knew. Professors suspected. Your classmates whispered about it.

Everyone knew… except you.

You were that oblivious.

Anthony would give you things at the strangest times. A keychain. A pen. Matching drinks from the vending machine.

“I accidentally bought two,” he’d say, shoving one toward you, eyes averted. "I don't need this one" then slides a pen to your desk, matching his.

You always thanked him politely, never questioning why this kept happening.

Today, the teacher was late. That meant chaos—people chatting loudly, someone playing music, someone else daring Anthony to smoke in class. He did.

Leaning back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, completely unbothered. At first, you tried to ignore it. Then your chest tightened. You coughed, quietly at first. Then again—sharper this time.

Anthony noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry slipping into his voice before he could stop it.

“Oh,” you said lightly, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “I have asthma.”

That was all it took. Anthony stood up so abruptly his chair screeched against the floor. His expression darkened—not angry, but heavy, like he’d crossed some line he couldn’t undo. The cigarette box in his hand crumpled under his grip.

Without saying a word, he walked to the trash bin and crushed the cigarette out aggressively before tossing it in. Then he turned back to the class.

“From this day onward,” he declared, voice loud and unwavering, “I will not smoke a single stick.”

The room went dead silent.

After a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d just done. He stiffened, cleared his throat, and smoothed his uniform as if regaining control. He sat back down, posture rigid. He glanced at you,just once—hesitant.

“And it’s not like I like you or something,” he added quickly. “I’m just… concerned about student health. You know.”

You nodded hesitantly, completely unaware.