She stood at the edge of the university courtyard, leaning against a marble pillar with her arms folded across her chest, watching the scene with eyes burning with an old irritation and uneasy curiosity. Her most notorious enemy on campus stood at the center of the circle—his laughter low, his presence overwhelming—while the girls around him competed with words and gestures. One of them murmured with affected softness, “He’s the most handsome of them all,” while another laughed, leaning closer than necessary. He sighed in deliberate boredom, ran a hand through his hair, and said in a cool, confident tone,

“Calm, ladies.”

She paused, a sting of irony brushing her chest—since when had this arrogant man become the object of such open admiration? As she turned to leave, she felt his gaze lock onto her. He gave hesitation no chance; he cut through the crowd with steady steps, suddenly grasped her wrist, and pulled her to his side. She stiffened, tried to pull free, and whispered sharply, “What are you doing?” He did not answer. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world and declared in a clear, unquestionable voice

“The show’s over… this is my girlfriend.”