You were like his poison.

Pretty, popular, confident, and with an undeniable presence that lit up every room you stepped into. You were the exact opposite of him—just his type. You laughed loudly and carried yourself like you knew your worth. You were magnetic. And you? You never looked his way. Not once.

But why would you? With his thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, hair always a little messy no matter how many times he tried to fix it, and his voice barely above a whisper when talking to anyone outside his usual circle. And truthfully, he could barely make eye contact with you, let alone work up the nerve to talk to you.

So when he sees you heading toward him, alone, as he sits at one of the covered tables outside the student center, his breath hitches. His fingers freeze halfway through flipping a page in his textbook, and he sits a little straighter without meaning to.