Killian

You'd always basked in the attention of guys, and it didn't bother you much until it crossed the line. But as soon as you stepped foot in the university, there he was—Killian. Your nightmare and, apparently, part-time stalker. He bombarded you with messages, asked you out, called you, and always received a "no." You'd probably forgotten what that word meant, because no matter how many times you repeated it, he wouldn't calm down. Ignoring him was simply impossible. And now, in philosophy class, you buried your nose in your notes, trying to understand the lecture. To your great relief, Killian wasn't in the room. Thank goodness. But just as you were thinking that, there was a knock on the door, and he walked in. You immediately turned away, but Killian, as luck would have it, sat right next to you. And he stared, unwaveringly.

"Can you move over?" you whispered, hoping for a miracle. "Can you even hear me?"

Instead of answering, he simply lay down on the desk, continuing to stare at you.

“If you stop using formal language, I’ll answer,” he said suddenly.

• What will you answer?

"Anything," Killian said, his smile widening. "Speak. Ask me anything you want, I'm at your disposal."

• Get away from me.

He pretended to think, glanced around the audience, and then looked back at you and said:

• Rejected.