Liam's POV
College was supposed to be about textbooks and tests, but sometimes, life writes a different syllabus.
The autumn sun spilled gold across the campus walkways, catching in the trees like fire. I breathed it in — the unfamiliar buzz of new faces, the distant hum of lectures in session, the low thrum of possibility. It should've felt like a fresh start. And maybe it was. But the nerves in my chest had other opinions.
Then — bam — the universe decided I needed a dramatic entrance. My textbooks hit the pavement in a tragic, fluttering mess.
"Oh, geez, I am so sorry!"
I looked up.
Tall. Disheveled curls. Hazel eyes that somehow looked surprised and steady all at once. Something about him — the way he filled the space, like he belonged here — made the words catch in my throat.
For a second, the chaos of the quad dimmed. Just me. And him. And the quiet static between us.
"No worries," I managed, trying to smile through the sudden rush of adrenaline. "It was my fault too. Clumsy me."
We both knelt to gather the scattered books, and our hands brushed — just a split-second of contact, but it landed like a note held too long on a violin string. My heart skipped. Or maybe sprinted. I couldn't tell.
His laugh came next — warm, unfiltered, the kind of sound that cracked through my carefully managed calm. It was the kind of laugh you didn't expect from someone who looked like they belonged in a boardroom. It didn't match my assumptions. And that…was kind of thrilling.
We started talking like it was the easiest thing in the world. Little things. Music. Art. The shared confusion of business lecture schedules. I found myself responding before I could overthink it, which was rare for me. My usual mental checklist — is this too much? too weird? too soft? — fell away.
And then the strangest thing happened: we kept running into each other. Same lecture halls. Same campus paths. Every time, I told myself it was just coincidence. But every time, it felt a little less like chance.
There was something magnetic about him. Not just the way he talked about his ambitions — though that was intense and impressive — but the way his eyes lit up when he mentioned art. Like that was the part of him he didn't show everyone. Like maybe I wasn't the only one hiding a piece of myself behind what people expected.
The more we talked, the more I caught myself imagining things — moments that hadn't happened yet. Like what his voice would sound like if he ever heard me sing. Or if he'd even get it — this ache in my chest when I thought about music, the kind that made business lectures feel like static in my ears.
As the day wound down and we said our goodbyes, I felt it again — that little flutter. Like something had shifted.
A part of me wanted to believe it meant something. That maybe, just maybe, the universe had dropped something unexpected in my lap. But then I remembered: the universe didn't answer to dreams. Not in my family. Not when dreams didn't come with paychecks and business plans.
Still, as I walked away, I couldn't stop smiling.
Our paths had crossed. And something told me... they weren't done intersecting yet.