02

Missy point of View

“Come on, we need to get you to class,” Sienna said, grabbing Missy’s hand and tugging her forward.

They passed through the cluster of students still lingering outside, buzzing with nervous whispers from the motorcycle spectacle moments ago.

Missy could feel their stares. Like something dangerous had brushed past them and left the air crackling.

Her fingers trembled slightly.

“Who were they?” she asked quietly, still glancing back.

Sienna didn’t answer. Just gave her a look that said: Don’t.

They reached the class building, its stone arch casting a shadow across the doorway.

Sienna stopped just before the entrance.

“Lit 101. First door on the left,” she said. “I’ll meet you here when it’s over. Don’t talk to anyone weird. And don’t go exploring. This place has teeth.”

Missy raised a brow. “You say that like I’m in a haunted mansion.”

Sienna didn’t even crack a smile. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

Then she was gone, vanishing into the tide of students like smoke.

Missy sighed, squared her shoulders, and walked inside.

The lecture hall was bright, sloped with stadium seating and long tables. About two dozen students were scattered through the room.

Quiet. Focused. A few on their phones. No one speaking.

She chose a seat near the middle close enough to hear, not close enough to be noticed.

Or so she thought.

The moment she sat, she felt it a shift.

Like the air changed pressure.

Whispers started behind her. A desk squeaked. A girl cleared her throat, then fell completely silent.

Then came the sound. Footsteps. Slow. Confident.

She turned her head.

And he walked in.

Not the man with the deep eyes from the motorcycle. Not the one who made her heart hiccup.

This one was colder. Leaner. Sharper.

Black boots, black shirt. A silver chain hung around his neck, resting on ink-covered skin.

His jaw was defined like marble, his dark hair slicked back, not a strand out of place.

His eyes God they were gray. Pale. And empty. Like ice that never melted.

Missy’s breath caught.

He walked straight toward her.

Straight.

No detours. No hesitations.

Students shifted in their seats like they were bracing for impact.

One guy near the back packed up his bag and left without a word.

Missy sat frozen.

The boy stopped in front of her desk.

A long pause.

“You’re in my seat,” he said, voice low, flat, with an accent that clung to the edges of every syllable.

Her cheeks flushed. “I Sorry, I didn’t know, I can move”

He tilted his head slightly, just watching her. Not angry. Not amused.

Just watching.

Then, slowly, he sat beside her.

Right beside her.

“You already warmed it,” he said. “Might as well stay.”

Missy blinked, thrown completely off. “I didn’t mean”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He said it softly, but it felt like a blade sliding across glass.

Then, after a beat, he looked at her hair. At the little navy ribbon tied at the base of her ponytail.

“I like your bow,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“It’s innocent.” He looked at her, then smirked. “You wear it like you think this place won’t touch you.”

Missy didn’t know what to say.

Before she could speak, the professor walked in. Class began. Pages turned. Pens scratched.

But Missy sat still, her heart pounding louder than the lecture.

Because the boy next to her never looked away.

The class had ended, but Missy's thoughts were still tangled in everything but literature.

She couldn't stop glancing at the boy next to her Nico.

That's what he said when she asked.

They had barely spoken for five minutes, and yet it felt like more.

He hadn't laughed. He hadn't even smiled.

But he'd answered her questions even if he looked at her like she was a puzzle that didn't quite fit.

"What's your name?" she had asked quietly while they were packing up.

He had paused, looking at her with that cool, gray stare.

"Nico," he replied, voice low and simple like that name was all he owed the world.

He watched her a beat longer, then stood.

Only then did Missy smile and wave. "Bye, Nico."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"Bye, Pink."

Pink? Her heart did a little jump.

She was still standing there, stunned and trying not to smile too wide, as he walked away.

She followed him out of the classroom, lost in thought.

Everything about that short exchange played over and over in her head his voice, his eyes, the way he'd noticed her without really looking.

The sunlight outside felt too bright after being in the cold glow of that room.

She waited just outside the door, standing by the wall and clutching her bag, her fingers grazing the soft cream sweater.

A few students passed, staring at her outfit like it didn't belong on this campus.

"Maybe wearing a simple outfit was a bad idea," she thought, touching the ends of her long black hair, suddenly self-conscious.

But then she remembered how Nico looked at her.

He hadn't laughed.

He hadn't told her she stood out.

He called her Pink.

That had to mean something right?

And Sienna hadn't said a word when they'd left the dorm earlier.

She just gave her usual smirk and dragged her along like always.

Missy bit her lip. Maybe he actually liked it.

"Hey, sunshine," Sienna's voice snapped her out of it.

Missy looked up to see her roommate walking toward her with a guy by her side.

He had a piercing through his eyebrow and the kind of face you don't look at for too long unless you want trouble.

"What got you thinking?" Sienna asked, eyeing her curiously. She stepped close and touched Missy's forehead. "You're not running a temperature, are you?"

Missy smiled, quickly shaking off the weight in her chest. "Nothing. Just hungry," she said, patting her stomach lightly.

Sienna laughed and hooked her arm with Missy's. "Then let's fix that."

"This is Marco, by the way my boyfriend," she added like it was no big deal.

Missy blinked, then nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

Marco gave a short nod in return. "You too."

His voice was deep, sharp around the edges, like he didn't say more than necessary.

As they walked together, Missy couldn't help but glance at her reflection in a passing window.

Next to Sienna's sleek jeans and black crop top, and Marco's all-black outfit and cold stare, she looked like a storybook character that wandered into the wrong book.

Everyone here looked so edgy. So fearless.

And she looked like... well, her.

A simp light washed jeans and a soft cream sweater.

But today someone noticed that.

Someone didn't laugh at it.

He called her Pink.

And for now she wasn't going to tell Sienna a single thing about Nico.

It was her little secret.

And it made her heart beat faster than it should've.