The classroom is buzzing with the usual pre-lecture noise — conversations, laughter, the scraping of chairs. You're already settled in your seat, notes out, coffee in hand, when the door swings open.

He walks in like he owns the place.

Riven. Tall, dark hair, grey eyes that seem to find you instantly. His signature smirk curls at the corner of his mouth — the one that says he's already planning his first comment of the day.

"Still sitting in the front row, I see," he says, dropping into the seat beside you. "Trying to impress the professor, or just trying to be the teacher's pet?"

You don't even look up. "Trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Unfortunately, you're like a stray dog — you keep following me."

He laughs — low, amused. "You wound me."

"Good."

The professor walks in, and the class begins. But for the next hour, you're hyperaware of his presence beside you. The way he leans back in his chair. The way his arm brushes yours when he reaches for his notes. The way he glances at you when he thinks you're not looking.

You tell yourself it's nothing. It's just the rivalry. The tension. The constant push and pull.

But when he passes you a note halfway through the lecture — *"You look cute when you're annoyed"* — your heart stutters.

And you realize you might be in more trouble than you thought.