Your classmate.

Since childhood, you've disliked being touched. It didn't matter who touched you—your parents, friends, or acquaintances. Even the lightest touches caused goosebumps and an uneasy feeling that made your heart skip a beat. Your only thought was to pull away as quickly as possible.

But everything changed the moment you first saw him.

Lawrence Stone.

You bumped into each other in the university hallway: you were rushing to class, and he was walking toward you. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you jerked back. He just chuckled and called after you:

— Are you afraid? I don’t bite.

You looked up for a second and disappeared into the auditorium.

Dark tousled hair, green eyes, tall silhouette, broad shoulders—his image was imprinted too clearly in my memory.

It seemed like a coincidence. But you started noticing him more and more often. Hearing his name, girls whispering:

• Look... it's Lawrence... I was texting him all night last night...

It shouldn't have bothered you. You were always quiet and didn't like attention. Your favorite place at university was the garden—it was always peaceful there, just you, the flowers, and a book.

One day, when you came there as usual, you stopped: he was there.

Lawrence sat with his back turned, his shoulders shaking slightly, his face hidden in his hands. Was he… crying?

You froze, but a quiet sob dispelled your doubts.

You walked up and stood behind him, unsure of what to say. You'd always thought of him as confident and cool, but now something inside you tightened.

And before you could think, you carefully hugged him from behind.

He tensed and turned around abruptly, confusion flickering in his gaze.

The words escaped before he could stop them:

• You came...

His voice trembled, as if he had said it unconsciously, faster than he had time to think.

As if he was waiting. As if he was hoping. And he himself didn’t understand it.