Liam's POV
Liam wasn't sure when it started.
Maybe it was months ago, the first time he saw her, Elara—walking outside the gates of St. Claire's, that high-class private school across from the broken street lamp. She had her hair tied in a blue ribbon that day, her uniform ironed to perfection, her steps light and confident like someone used to being admired.
She was so pretty he couldn't take his eyes off her.
So every breaktime, Liam found himself wandering toward the fence between their schools. He'd lean against it like he had nothing better to do, and stare at her like the rest of the world didn't exist. It was pathetic, really. He knew he wasn't the only one watching her, everyone was. She had that kind of beauty. Like the kind you'd see in a magazine and convince yourself didn't exist in real life.
But she was real. Untouchable, but real.
And now... she was here. At Westbridge.
She sat in the same classrooms. Walked the same hallways. Ate lunch a few feet from him, like it was normal. Like she belonged.
It freaked him out.
What was she doing here? What did she want from him? He didn't believe for a second she just wanted to "be friends."
Maybe it was the second time she showed up at the back gate, grinning like she'd always belonged there. Or maybe it was the way she never flinched when people whispered about her, about him. She didn't act scared. She didn't pretend not to notice. She just looked at him like he mattered.
It made Liam uncomfortable. And curious.
He told himself not to care. Told himself she'd get bored eventually and go back to her polished life.
But she didn't.
She started showing up more. Not in an annoying way. Just... present.
In class, she always took the closest seat to him that was still available.
During lunch, she sat on the steps by the gym and sketched quietly in a notebook. She never looked at him directly, but somehow, she was always just within sight.
And that day in math class, he caught himself watching her.
Her head tilted slightly as she stared at the board, her pen tapping against her lip in rhythm. She looked… different. Not just beautiful. She looked older. Wiser. Like someone who'd lived a hundred lives and carried the silence of all of them on her shoulders.
She didn't seem afraid of anything.
Not even him.
And Liam knew exactly what people said about him, the temper, the fights, the rumors about why he got held back twice. He let them talk. Let them be scared. It made life easier.
But Elara didn't flinch when he looked her way.
In fact, she caught his gaze.
And smiled.
A soft, knowing smile.
He looked away fast, pretending to scribble something in his notebook, heart pounding like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't.
Later that day, when he passed by the gym steps and saw her sitting there again, sketching, he slowed down.
Just for a second.
She didn't look up.
But he did.
And for the first time, Liam wondered—
What would happen if I sat beside her?
Elara's POV
By Wednesday, Elara had become Westbridge's newest scandal.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
"She's stalking Liam."
"She's trying to buy friends."
"Is this some weird social experiment?"
Everywhere she walked, eyes followed. Girls whispered in the halls. Boys watched her like she was both a challenge and a mystery.
Even the teachers glanced twice when they saw her name on the attendance list.
Elara didn't care.
She was here for one reason.
That morning, she packed an extra sandwich and left it on Liam's desk. He didn't touch it.
She tried to sit beside him in history. He moved seats.
She passed him a note during math. He crumpled it without reading.
Still, she smiled.
Let them talk. Let him push her away. She wasn't giving up.
But not everyone was willing to let her stay quiet.
"Hey, princess," a sharp voice called as she stepped out of class.
A girl stood in her way, short bleached hair, too much gloss, and a glare that could shatter glass.
"You think just because you're rich, you can come here and take what you want?"
Elara blinked. "I don't even know you."
"I'm Maeve," the girl snapped. "And Liam doesn't need your charity. So back off."
A small crowd had gathered, buzzing with tension.
Elara stood tall. "I'm not here to fight."
Maeve stepped closer. "Then leave. Or next time, I won't just be talking."
Before Elara could respond, the bell rang.
Students scattered, and Maeve gave one last pointed look before walking away.
Someone behind Elara muttered, "She's gonna get herself hurt."
Elara took a steady breath.
Liam had enemies.
Now, so did she.
Later that day, as she headed toward the back gate, someone caught up to her.
"You really don't know how to quit, do you?" Liam asked, walking beside her.
She grinned. "Nope."
He studied her, eyes narrowed. "Why me?"
She stopped walking.
"Because you're worth the effort."
Liam looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or argue.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," she said softly. "I know you protect the people you love. I know you act cold, but you're not. Not really."
He stared at her like she was a puzzle missing every corner piece.
"You're weird," he muttered.
"I've been called worse."
He shook his head and walked off.
But this time, he didn't walk as fast.
That night, Elara sat alone in her room, pencil in hand.
She was sketching the old version of Liam, the one she had known in another lifetime.
The lines were off. The angles messy.
Her hands were trembling.
She was afraid.
Afraid she wouldn't reach him in time.
Afraid she'd already messed it up.
Afraid of failing all over again.
But still—
She kept drawing.
Because she would try again. And again. And again.
Even if the whole world stood in her way.