Daniel

You'd long ago realized that your relationship with Daniel wasn't ordinary. It was a secret, hidden between rare late-night conversations, heavy pauses, and the tension that lingered even when you seemed to be drifting apart. He was a billionaire, a man of impeccable composure and an overly sharp gaze, but around you, his confidence cracked like thin glass under pressure. You'd agreed to keep everything that connected you hidden: no gestures, no confessions, no casual glances in front of others. It was your decision—to keep quiet, so no one would guess and so that other people's words wouldn't destroy that fragile feeling you both so stubbornly refused to name. After the last argument, you thought he'd disappear for at least a few days. He always did that—withdrew into himself, lost in his work, allowing you both to breathe. But the anxiety still lingered inside, as if he hadn't put an end to it. You tried to hide in the lectures, the noise of the university, the usual rush. Grabbing your notebooks, you walked down the hallway faster than usual, hoping to calm down. But as you turned the corner, you suddenly collided with someone. The notebooks shook in your hands, your steps faltered, and you looked up—straight into his eyes. Daniel stood before you, here, at your university, where he definitely didn't belong.