The first rays of dawn had barely stretched across the sky when Calix stirred awake. His alarm hadn't even been necessary; excitement had done the job. Today was his first day at a new college—mid-semester, no less. Most people would dread it. Calix didn't.
He rolled out of bed, humming to himself as he pulled on a soft blue hoodie over a plain white T-shirt. Simple, easy, comfortable. His blond hair refused to sit flat, strands rebelliously curling until he ruffled them into place. A glance at his phone confirmed his schedule—the one the administration had mailed him—and without hesitation, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left early.
The campus was quieter than he expected. Only a few students drifted about, their curious glances brushing over him but never sticking. Calix didn't mind. He had always been good at walking into spaces as though he belonged there. Still, beneath the cheerful rhythm of his steps, a flicker of nerves hummed. New faces, new corridors, new everything. He exhaled, smiling to himself. Alright, mate. Just another adventure.
He wandered toward the garden, where the quiet seemed softer, almost welcoming. And that was when he noticed her.
A girl sat on a wooden bench, books open in her lap, sunlight catching the ends of her dark ponytail. She was all clean lines and stillness—beige oversized crop top, wide brown jeans, posture straight, eyes trained on the pages before her. The kind of person who looked untouchable, as if the world couldn't ruffle her calm.
Calix hesitated only a second before stepping forward.
"Uh… excuse me," he said softly.
Her head lifted. Sharp eyes, warm skin that glowed faintly under the morning sun, a face that seemed both cold and composed.
"Can I sit here, mate?"
The accent betrayed him instantly. Not quite Korean. Not quite American. Definitely Australian.
She blinked, curious. Then, with the smallest nod, she allowed him space.
Calix grinned and slid onto the bench, offering his hand. "I'm Calix. Transfer student. First day."
"Ishitha," she replied after a pause. Her voice was calm, even.
"Indian?" he asked, his tone light, curious.
"Yes."
He tried repeating her name—once, twice—stumbling over the syllables until she corrected him with a faint smile tugging at her lips. By the third attempt, he got it right.
"Better?" he asked hopefully.
"Better," she admitted, surprising herself with how natural it felt to say it. And for the first time in a long while, Ishitha found herself smiling.
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