The classroom settled into its usual rhythm—chairs aligned, bags dropped, murmurs fading.
The professor walked in, a faint smile on her face."Good morning, class. Before we begin, I have someone… interesting to introduce."
She turned toward the door."Come in."
Footsteps.
A boy stepped inside—confident, relaxed, dressed too well for someone claiming to be late. His gaze swept the room once, sharp and curious, before settling into something playful.
"This," the professor said, "is a new transferee. He's a little late because he's coming from an international program. Introduce yourself."
He grinned."Hello everyone. I'm Adam."
A beat.
"And yes—I'm Indian," he added, accent unmistakable. "So that officially proves I'm not a foreigner. I'm just… globally confused."
The room burst into laughter.
Even the professor smiled. "Take a seat, Adam."
He walked down the aisle—and stopped.
Right behind Nyx.
She felt it before she heard the chair scrape back.
She didn't turn.
She already knew.
Break came quickly.
The cafeteria buzzed with noise and movement, trays clattering, voices overlapping. The group gathered around their usual table—Lyra animated, Amara glowing, everyone talking at once.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
"Looks like you guys suffer from a serious lack of humour," Adam said easily. "Mind if I join?"
Amara was already standing. "Of course! You're hilarious. Come on—we won't mind being thirteen."
Nyx glanced up briefly.
How do people trust this fast?
She dropped her gaze back to her plate and continued eating.
Introductions flew around the table—names, jokes, laughter. Adam soaked it all in, smiling, nodding, charming every single one of them.
Then the chatter slowed.
Her turn.
Nyx didn't look up.
Lucien noticed.
"Nyx," he said evenly. "Introduce yourself."
She raised her eyes.
Adam was already watching her—like he'd been waiting.
"You said it already," she replied flatly. "My name. So why the introduction?"
Lyra groaned softly. "Ten—don't be rude. Come on."
Nyx exhaled, just once."Hi. I'm Nyx. Nice to meet you."
Calm. Neutral. Finished.
Adam smiled wider. "Nyx," he repeated. "You don't seem like the joking type. Don't worry—I'm here now. I'll make sure everyone laughs."
She didn't respond.
She went back to her food.
Lucien shifted slightly. "I'm—"
"Oh, you don't have to," Adam cut in smoothly. "I know you already. You're quite popular."
Lucien paused, then nodded politely. "Still—Lucien. Glad to meet you."
Adam leaned back, satisfied. "I'm intrigued by all of you," he said. "I'd love to get along. Let's hang out from now on."
Amara clapped her hands. "Give me your ID and number. I'll add you to the group chat."
"Gladly," Adam said. "That GC desperately needs my dad jokes. And me, of course."
Laughter rippled around the table.
Nyx chewed slowly, eyes lowered.
Narcissist, she thought.
Behind her calm exterior, instinct stirred—quiet, sharp, alert.
Another piece had entered the game.
And Nyx never ignored new pieces.
The practice room echoed with laughter and shuffled footsteps.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected twelve students pretending they knew what they were doing. Speakers sat in the corner, waiting. Bags were scattered. Someone was already arguing over music.
Amara clapped her hands."Okay, listen up! Let's make chits with our names and pick pairs."
She tore pieces of paper quickly, scribbling names.
Adam raised both hands. "I'd like to officially declare that I am not a dancer. I'll supervise. Emotionally."
Amara laughed. "Fine, Mr International. You can watch us embarrass ourselves."
They folded the chits and tossed them into a bowl.
Lyra volunteered to pick first.
She pulled one out.
"Lyra… and Elias."
Lyra froze.
Her eyes flicked toward Elias.
He was already looking at her.
She immediately turned away.
Out of all people… him?
Across the room, Elias exhaled quietly.
Why her?
Amara noticed the tension and grinned."Come on, you two. Get along."
Lyra forced a smile and walked toward Elias.
Next chit.
"Amara and Rayan!"
They high-fived.
"Isha and Evan!"
Both nodded, already discussing moves.
Then Amara picked again.
"Nyx… and Lucien."
The room stilled for half a second.
Nyx looked up.
Lucien looked up.
Their eyes met—sharp, unreadable, familiar.
Nyx broke it first.
"Amara," she said, standing slightly. "Why us? I'm not ready."
Lyra rushed over. "Ten, please. For me. Just practice, okay? We'll make memories."
Nyx hesitated.
Lucien was already moving toward the center, loosening his jacket, calm as ever.
That irritated her more than it should have.
Waste of time, she thought.
But backing out would raise questions.
So she nodded once.
"Fine."
Amara smiled triumphantly. "Great! Last pair—Alex and Iransh."
Alex raised an eyebrow. Iransh shrugged.
They stepped forward together.
"We're already partners," Alex said. "We'll dance in our own style."
Adam blinked. "Wait—are you guys gay?"
The room exploded with laughter.
Iransh threw a cushion at Adam. "Shut up."
Music finally started.
Lyra tried to follow Elias's steps. Amara was already overdramatic with Rayan. Isha and Evan argued about timing.
Nyx stood opposite Lucien.
Too close.
He spoke first, low. "You don't dance."
It wasn't a question.
"No," she replied. "I survive."
A faint curve touched his lips.
"Then follow my lead."
She studied him for a moment.
"Don't get used to that."
They moved.
Awkward at first. Controlled. Measured.
But slowly—strangely—their steps aligned.
Two fighters learning rhythm.
Around them, laughter filled the room.
But between Nyx and Lucien—
There was only focus.
Only tension.
Only something unspoken beginning to take shape.
And Adam, watching from the corner, tilted his head slightly.
Like someone memorizing a pattern.
Music filled the room—soft beats layered with rhythm—but Nyx barely registered it.
Lucien stepped closer.
"Your shoulders are stiff," he said quietly.
She shot him a look. "I don't relax in crowded rooms."
"Not crowded anymore," he replied.
She glanced around. Everyone was too busy laughing, arguing over steps, or messing up choreography.
It really was just them.
Lucien placed one hand lightly near her wrist—not touching yet.
"May I?"
Nyx hesitated.
Then nodded once.
His grip was firm but careful. Controlled. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply.
"Left foot," he murmured.
She followed.
"Now turn."
She did.
Her movement was precise, sharp—more combat than dance.
He noticed.
"You fight," Lucien said under his breath.
Her eyes flicked to him. "And you observe too much."
A faint smirk.
They moved again.
Step. Pivot. Spin.
Their reflections followed in the mirror—dark and light, stillness and motion.
Lucien adjusted her posture gently.
"Loosen your grip," he said. "You're treating this like a threat."
"Everything is a threat," Nyx replied.
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"That's exhausting."
She met his gaze.
"So is pretending things are harmless."
Their faces were inches apart now.
For a second, neither moved.
Something electric passed between them—not romantic, not hostile.
Recognition.
Lucien broke eye contact first.
"You're good," he said. "You just don't let yourself be."
She stepped back slightly.
"Don't psychoanalyze me."
He lifted his hands in surrender. "Wasn't planning to."
They resumed.
Their movements grew smoother, more synchronized—like two predators learning each other's rhythm.
Across the room, Lyra noticed.
She whispered to Amara, "They don't look like beginners."
Amara squinted. "They look like they've done this before. Just… not dancing."
Nyx completed a turn and pulled away.
"That's enough practice for me."
Lucien nodded. "Same."
They stepped apart.
No smiles.
No words.
But something had changed.
They weren't just partners anymore.
They were becoming aware of each other.
And awareness, Nyx knew, was always dangerous.