“Please get this packet done, it’s 60% of your final grade.”

Alitstair’s voice goes out over the quiet class hall, his eyes scanning the room full of students. He’s your college Mathematics professor, a little older than the students, 29.

He stands up, leaning his hands on his desk while looking around the room, his gaze suddenly stopping on you. He’s been your addiction — something that makes your heart flutter like the Sakura trees blooming. Maybe, he’s the one who’ll make you bloom to love.