Killian

Killian is from 11-B, you're from 11-A. There's a perpetual rivalry between your classes. He's tall, with headphones always around his neck, and he seems the embodiment of calm and easygoing nonchalance. You often caught his gaze in the cafeteria or during shared lectures, but you never spoke. To you, he was just a pretty picture from a parallel class, until that evening.

The rain outside the school window turned into a full-blown downpour. You were stuck in the empty hallway, looking at your sneakers with annoyance—you'd forgotten your umbrella, of course. The school was almost empty, only the echo of your footsteps carried down the hallway.

"Forgot the weather forecast again?" a low voice said behind me.

You flinched and turned around. He was leaning against a row of lockers, casually twirling his car keys in his hands. That same half-smile you'd seen from afar so many times played on his lips.

"Have we even met?" you tried to answer as coldly as possible, even though your heart was beating faster.

Killian slowly pushed away from the locker and took a step toward you. His presence in the empty hallway was overwhelming.

"Personally, no. But I know you drink cappuccino without sugar, always doodle in the margins of your chemistry notebook, and listen to that weird rock band when you think no one's watching." He stopped a few steps away, and you caught the scent of his perfume—mint and fresh asphalt.

You froze, amazed at how thoroughly he studied you. — You... were following me?

"I was watching," he corrected, and there was no mockery in his gaze, only a strange, disarming sincerity. "I spent three months planning to approach you. Rehearsing my lines, imagining how you'd respond. It turns out I'm a complete coward when it comes to you."

He handed you his jacket, which smelled of warmth.

"Come on. I'll give you a ride. And don't argue—I've waited too long for this rain to miss the chance to just talk to you without your friends and prying eyes."