First Day, First Mistake
I study my reflection in the mirror, adjusting my dark pink sweater and my black skirt that falls just below the knee. My chestnut hair is pulled back into a smooth ponytail, and my white sneakers complete the look—clean, simple, confident. I say my morning prayer, thanking God for His blessings, asking forgiveness for my sins, and asking Him to make this a good day. I smile at my reflection. I am ready for my first day at university. In the kitchen, my mother, Annabelle, is already preparing breakfast. The small apartment smells of toast and warm coffee. I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek.
— Good luck, Mum. Have a wonderful day—I have to go or I’ll be late. She turns and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her eyes soft.
— Good luck to you too, my darling. I’ll see you this evening. Tell me everything.
— Everything, I promise. I grab my bag and step out into the morning.
The university corridors are already packed with students searching for their classrooms. I consult my map and set off in the right direction. I have barely rounded the second corner when a firm hand catches my arm.
— Miss, your outfit— Every nerve in my body fires at once. I spin around, my free hand rising instinctively, already prepared to put distance between myself and whoever has touched me without permission.
The stranger is tall and broad-shouldered, watching me with an amused smile. He raises his wrist to show me the problem—the hem of my skirt is caught on the clasp of his watch. He is handsome, I notice against my will. Blond hair cut short, pale blue eyes that miss nothing, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. None of that matters. Fear moves faster than reason in me.
— Let go of me! I don’t know you. He releases me immediately, raising both hands.
— I apologize. I only wanted to help. I free my skirt, smooth it down, and walk away without another word.
When I push open the door to my classroom, I stop dead. It is him. He sits near the window, arm resting along the back of his chair, watching me with that same quiet amusement, as though my entrance is the most entertaining thing he has seen all morning. I hold his gaze for exactly one second, then find an empty seat.
— Well, well, well, he says, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. The new student. I wonder what you’re doing here.
— I came to learn, I reply, without looking at him. Not to be insulted by someone as arrogant as you. He laughs—low, genuine, and deeply irritating.
— Feisty. I like that. A girl drops into the seat beside him before I can respond. She wears a fitted black crop top and perfectly tailored high-waisted trousers, every detail deliberate and composed. But when her eyes find mine, I see what sits beneath the polished surface—a quiet, burning jealousy.
— What’s going on, Élian? she asks sweetly.
— Nothing, darling, he replies, taking her hand. Just entertaining myself with the new girl. I turn to her.
— A pleasure. I’m Nelliel. And you are? — Chloé, she answers, with a smile that does not reach her eyes. Élian’s girlfriend. We’ve been together for a very long time.
— Congratulations. I’m sure you’re very happy together. Élian tilts his head, a slow smile on his lips.
— We are. And we will remain so—regardless of anything you might do. I feel a sting of irritation but say nothing. I will not spend my first morning proving something to these two.
The professor arrives, and the room settles into order. By the time the lecture begins, I have already found two friendly faces—Léa Ryder and Ava Hamber—and something clicks into place between us with the easy naturalness of finding people you were always going to find. I focus on my notes. But I can feel Élian’s gaze on the side of my face, steady and unhurried, like a challenge not yet spoken aloud.
I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. I came here to exist quietly, to study, to build something without drawing anyone’s attention. Why did he choose me? I have the uncomfortable feeling that this year is not going to be quiet at all.
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Meanwhile, across the city, Annabelle walks toward her office, still thinking about Nelliel, when she turns a corner and stops. Julian Ryder stands directly in her path. Time has been precise with him. Older, yes, but still unmistakably the man he was eighteen years ago. The man who walked away from them without looking back.
— Annabelle, he says, controlled.
— Julian. So is her voice.
— I wanted to speak with you about Nelliel. How is she?
— My daughter’s life is no concern of yours, she says sharply. Leave us alone.
— Please. Something fragile enters his voice. Let me explain. One coffee after work. That’s all I ask.
— No. I’ll be working late. — I run this company, Annabelle. You can leave early. One coffee—and I promise I won’t bother you again.
She studies him for a long moment, searching for the old evasions. She finds only the exhaustion of someone carrying something heavy for far too long.
— Fine, she says at last. But after that, you leave us in peace.
— You have my word. She walks past him without another word, her steps steady, her expression giving nothing away. But her hands, tucked inside her coat pockets, are not entirely still.
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At break time, I leave Léa and Ava waiting and head toward the bathroom. I am almost at the door when Élian steps into my path. He leans against the wall with arms loosely crossed, blocking the way with a casualness so complete it feels deliberate. As though he expected me.
— Where are you off to so quickly, Miss Watkins? My heart does something immediate and embarrassing. We are too close.
— I’m going to the bathroom, I say, keeping my voice steady.
— Who are you trying to be—the girl who feels nothing? You really think you can resist me? I move to step around him. Before I can, his hand lifts and presses flat against the wall beside my head, and suddenly the corridor shrinks to just this—just him, just me, just the charged air between us.
God, forgive me. I press my back against the wall and stare past his shoulder.
— Don’t, I whisper. Please don’t do this. He traces the line of my jaw with the tips of his fingers—barely a touch—and the sensation travels down my entire spine. My breath catches. I cannot stop it.
— Tell me you feel nothing, he says softly. Look me in the eye and tell me. I cannot look at him. I am trembling slightly, and I know he sees it. His smile shifts into something slower and more satisfied.
— You’re sensitive, he murmurs. Aren’t you. I gather everything I have, push past him, and walk fast until I am around the corner and finally able to breathe again.
Élian watches me disappear. The smile fades into something quieter, more thoughtful. She is shy—genuinely shy beneath whatever armor she has assembled. He felt it in the trembling she could not control. He had not expected that.
— Interesting, he murmurs. I’m going to have to change my approach. He turns—and finds Chloé at the far end of the corridor, her jaw tight and her eyes burning.
— Élian. What do you think you’re doing?
— Nothing. I was having a little fun.
— You were touching her. You were looking at her like—
— I am not in love with her, he says calmly. I want her to fall for me. I want her to believe it is real. And then I will let her go.
— Promise me you will never love her.
— I promise, Chloé. I will never love her. She exhales.
— Then one condition. You will not touch her the way you touch me. You will not kiss her. — Why? — Because I am jealous, she says simply. And I refuse to allow it. He nods.
— Alright. I promise. Chloé smiles, satisfied, and walks away. Élian watches her go. Then quietly, he thinks about the trembling hands and the voice that fought so hard to stay steady. His smile returns. This is going to be far more interesting than he planned.
