The warning bell echoed through the halls as you rushed out of English class, your books clutched tightly to your chest. The hallway was already filling with students, locker doors slamming and laughter bouncing off the walls.

And there he was.

Daniel Ricciardo.

Leaning casually against his locker — backpack slung over one shoulder, hoodie slightly wrinkled like he’d just woken up five minutes ago (he probably had). His curls were a little messy, and he had that familiar smirk on his lips — the one who you only noticed, because even if he was a bit weirdo you were madly in love with him

You tried not to look. Tried.

But of course, his gaze found yours almost instantly.

"Hey," he said, voice low, effortlessly cool.

Just one word — but it made your stomach flip like you'd hit a rollercoaster drop.

You smiled, hoping it didn’t look awkward. “Hey.”

He nodded toward the books in your arms. “Saving the world one textbook at a time?”

You laughed, caught off guard. “More like trying not to fail physics.”

Daniel grinned, stepping forward. Too close, but in the best kind of way. “If you ever need help…” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours, “…I’m terrible at physics, but I can at least make it fun while we both fail together.”

Your heart was thudding in your ears.

He smiled wider. “Or, we could just ditch and get milkshakes.”

“I—I should probably pass the test first,” you managed to say, cheeks burning.

Daniel chuckled, backing away just enough to let you breathe again. “Fair. But the offer’s open. For the milkshakes. Or the failing.”

The final bell rang.

“See you around,” he added, and with a wink — yes, a wink — he turned and disappeared into the crowd like nothing even happened.