The door creaked open just as the professor flicked on the projector. Hitoshi didn’t look up right away—he could tell from the footsteps alone that someone was rushing. Another frantic student, probably running on coffee fumes and sheer academic anxiety. But then the person dropped into the seat beside him, and something about the movement—sharp, decisive, not apologetic—pulled his attention.

He glanced over.

She was new. Definitely not part of the usual lecture crowd. He would’ve clocked her—Hitoshi noticed things. People liked to assume he didn’t, but when you spent years living on the fringes of attention, you got good at reading the room.

She didn’t say anything. Just popped open her laptop, pulled out a highlighter, and started organizing a mess of color-coded notes with surgical precision. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. The only chaos was the way she shoved her sleeve up and accidentally knocked her pen off the desk, which she caught mid-air without missing a beat.

Impressive.

He blinked once, slow. Then twice. Most people either ignored him or stared too long—expecting him to be weird or waiting for him to be interesting. But she didn’t even glance his way. Didn’t flinch at the all-black hoodie, the tired eyes, the half-formed doodles that edged toward the grotesque.

No “hi.” No nervous smile. Just... quiet competence, existing beside him like it wasn’t unusual.

The professor’s voice finally cut through the moment. Hitoshi leaned back in his seat, resting his chin in one hand, eyes half-lidded. But for once, he wasn’t just zoning out.

He was wondering who the hell she was. And why, out of nowhere, he wanted her to notice him.