: everybody has a story, and ours hasn't started yet.

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ziyanah's p.o.v

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                                   TWO hours. It had been precisely two hours, forty-five minutes, and thirteen seconds since I retreated to my little hideout. I had sneaked into the library, fabricating a ridiculous excuse about meeting a faculty member who wasn't even present that day, all in an effort to avoid walking with my crush. Such antics were exclusive to me, Ziyanah Alit.

Not to mention, later, cribbing about my missed opportunity to make a bomb-ass first impression on my crush as I sat on the floor - legs slightly stretched into a narrow V as I looks like a little patty pressed between two toasted bun-colored shelves. My head rested on a third one behind and my mouth moved as I finally shoved the last piece of Milk Bikis' in my mouth, which I secretly smuggled inside the library.

A sigh escaped my lips as I glanced at my watch, displaying a perfect 5:17 P.M. Fifteen minutes had passed since I texted Saisha, informing her not to wait for me after classes today due to a study session with my L.S partner after 5. While it was a valid excuse, it still served as a convenient way to avoid my crush for the umpteenth time. I peered at my dimly lit phone screen, rereading his text repeatedly for the past 45 minutes.

Rohaan Malik: When are your classes getting over?

I chose not to reply. Maybe I didn't want to... or maybe I did.

Uttering curses under my breath and realizing I had wasted two hours of my day, I finally made the decision to get up. I tucked my phone into my pocket, determined to be productive for a change. My eyes skimmed through the stack of books lined up under the '3D Animation and Visual Thinking' section when something exceptionally bright amidst the predominantly monochrome shelves caught my attention.

That's the thing about yellow, you see—it signifies happiness for some and caution for others. Regardless of personal interpretation, it has a knack for capturing attention. Rising on my tiptoes, I couldn't resist extending my hand toward the topmost shelf, reaching for a relatively small and incongruous book that seemed out of place among the others.

How could someone mistake a storybook for placement in the animation section anyway? I pondered.

My fingertips barely brushed the book's base as I exerted pressure on its side, hoping to tilt it and make it easier to extract from the midst of the collection. It was moments like these that made me contemplate the "what ifs" of life. What if I had enrolled in ballet workshops during school, improving my balance on tiptoes? What if the college had shown more consideration for individuals on the shorter side, designing shelves with their needs in mind? What if the university management had provided small stools that could prove useful for vertically challenged individuals like myself, given their prohibition on chair dragging or standing? And what if God had not held some personal grudge against me, granting me a stature beyond that resembling a dwarf?

"For fuck's sake," I grumbled after 4 minutes of frustration when I finally decided to completely stand on my feet, take a deep breath and make the longest jump my short legs could afford as my finger touched the top of the book, successfully tilting it out of the stack.

"Oww!" A small shriek escaped my lips the moment my eyes caught sight of the book tumbling straight down for the rack, prompting me to snap my eyes shut, tousle back, and raise my hands above my head in preparation for the impact when out of nowhere, a hand intercepted its descent, halting it midway.

I remained frozen in the same position, palms spread across my forehead from either side, as if I was enduring the worst headache ever until a slightly familiar scent hit my nostrils, aftershave mixed with the marine touch.

Holy mother of Dior

Peering between my fingers, I raised my gaze and my eyes widened at the sight of the hand suspended a foot above my head, saving me from being pelted by approximately 400 pages. To say that I was thankful to the clearly tall stranger would be an understatement, but instead of offering the expected thanks, my mind veered in a different direction.

My head tilted slightly to the left, and I squinted, attempting to decipher the delicate yet bold Arabic script adorning the stranger's forearm. My eyes traced the black ink as it traversed a prominent vein, accompanied by a subtle touch of green of their nerve that beautifully accentuated their fair complexion. The ink disappeared into the abyss of their black, folded-to-the-elbow sleeves.

' ضبط '

it read, a small vertical line formed between my brows as I slowly and softly whispered the word.

"zabt--"

The moment the words slipped past my lips, the hand above my head jolted and swiftly vanished from my line of sight. In response, I instinctively tilted my head backward, attempting to track its sudden movement. However, my fleeting moment of curiosity abruptly halted as I felt the back of my head make contact with something solid yet comforting, radiating warmth.

Oh no,

Fuck.

In that particular moment, the concept of "breathing" seemed to elude me completely. Neither my mouth nor my nose seemed capable of functioning as they should as if conspiring against me in moments of embarrassment. By now, I was well aware of the exact location where my head had come to rest. Closing my eyes tightly, I mentally berated myself for ending up in such an awkward situation. The realization that my back and head were practically resting against the chest of a complete stranger, with their jaw mere inches above my head, flooded my mind. The scent of the ocean emanating from them offered no solace.

I could feel him freeze against my touch, while somewhere in my mind, I couldn't help but contemplate faking a full-blown bolly-woody fainting escape plan. However, none of us moved a single bone at the awkwardness for what seemed like the longest minute of my life.

I nibbled on my bottom lip, summoning the courage to gradually straighten myself. With a slow tilt of my head to the left, I cast a sidelong glance over my shoulder, my vision somewhat blurred as I sought to bring the scene into focus. Finally, my eyes settled upon a pair of irises that possessed the most captivating shade of gray I had ever beheld, causing an involuntary intake of breath.

Never before had I found myself in such close proximity to a man, let alone in a position that could be misconstrued as an imminent prelude to a kiss. He had to lower his head considerably to meet my gaze, while I found myself gazing upward as if captivated by the sight of a ceiling fan.

I couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about this man that held me so captivated from the moment our eyes locked. However, one thing I couldn't deny, as I pondered alongside my conscience, was that he was undoubtedly the most captivating male specimen I had ever encountered. Whether it was the pools of gray in his eyes, his sharp nose, full lips, or the impeccably defined jawline, he possessed an undeniable allure.

Goddamn. I sound like a lust-struck whore.

"Thank you so much!" I exclaimed, flashing a wide grin as I slowly extended my hand to retrieve the book from his grasp. However, he swiftly withdrew it and gave me an inscrutable look before delivering a bitter response.

"No."

Among the things I excelled at being terrible in, the art of concealing my emotions topped the list. I had a knack for displaying unfiltered reactions to words spoken, just as I was doing now. My smile immediately faded upon hearing his refusal, and my face transformed into a scowl as I watched him walk away. How dare he.

"Wait! You can't--"

Immediately shutting up at the 'shush' sound of the librarian that came from 'god-knows-where'. I found myself running quietly on my tiptoes behind the god of a stranger as I slowly dragged the chair beside him, uninvitedly plopping on the seat on his side making him clench his jaw almost immediately. My legs barely hanging on one side of the chair as I faced his side profile, the sharpness of his jaw being slightly distractive, before I shook my head and leaned in closer to his ears.

"You can't do that!" I whisper-yelled.

He didn't respond, instead placing the book on the desk in front of him and promptly flipping it open.

This man was infuriating.

While I wasn't particularly possessive about many things, I drew the line at books. If it were possible to shoot lasers from my eyes, he would have been incinerated already. I struggled to resist the urge to smack the book on his tousled head, but his nonchalant demeanor only served to intensify the pounding in my temples. Aggressively tapping my foot on the ground, I succumbed to the cons of my short temper, which betrayed me through my body language.

I gritted my teeth and locked eyes with him, unleashing a piercing gaze.

"This is the highest of treasons." I asserted, mustering a heavy tone to add weight to my words. His lips curled into a slight smirk, spurring me on.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but you cannot do that. This is a library, and the first come, first serve rule applies. Periodt. Furthermore, you cannot claim a book unless it is registered under your name, which I will ensure does not happen. So, if you wish to leave this place with your pride intact and without causing a scene, I suggest you return that book to me immediately, or else--"

"Or else?" I halted as his sharp gaze turned toward me, his jaw clenched and his body tense, yet his eyes... oh, his eyes were filled with an unfamiliar amusement as they locked onto mine.

I could feel myself struggle to open my mouth the moment he snapped his head towards me, making our noses almost touch had I not immediately pulled myself back.

When did I get that close to him?

He regarded me with challenging eyes, prompting me to straighten my back and lift my chin, pressing my foot against the leg of his chair before pushing myself farther away, maintaining a respectable distance between us. Clearing my throat, I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"Or else, I'll report you,"

There was silence for what seemed like an eternity, with him not once blinking at me while I tried my hardest not to be intimidated by his constant stare. His eyes didn't travel anywhere over my body or across my face, they just stayed there, staring right into my pools of brown without missing a beat. I didn't know him from before, nor did he, but somehow, somewhere there was a weird sense of intimacy I could feel at the way his eyes bore into mine. Like it wasn't just the brown he was seeing but also what was at its deepest depth. As he could see right through my 'I've done this before' façade because clearly, I hadn't. I didn't know what actually intimidated me about him though, whether it was the amount of time he was willing to invest in a plain, simple, and absolutely vile eye contact or the way he stared shamelessly without caring about anything at all. Or that he might see something more than I'd want him to.

Chapter 01: The Art of Eye Contact

I couldn't help but be reminded of the book I had read when I was only 14 years old. Something about him, or more specifically, his stare, reminded me of it. At the time, I was young, I didn't take any of it seriously, but I would be lying if I said that those seven chapters and their quotations hadn't stuck with me. Who was I kidding? I treated each paragraph, each line, and each word in that book as if it were the most important aspect of myself. I assimilated it into my identity.

I could feel him lean closer, causing my heart to race, and I swallowed hard as I slowly inched backward, hoping he wouldn't notice. He whispered, and I struggled to process his words.

"Nice try, Miss Tiny Temper," he said.

I blinked, my mouth slightly ajar as I tried to comprehend his remark. I watched as he slid a piece of paper toward me, my gaze shifting to the sheet resting under his hand on the desk. Frowning, I picked it up.

My eyes widened as I read the words at the top of the page: LEGAL SCIENCE. At the bottom, in bold letters, it read "GROUP NUMBER FIFTEEN - M.C. MEHTA & ANR. vs. SR FOODS AND FERTILISER INDUSTRIES AND OTMYS," followed by my name on the side. My heartbeat quickened, and I closed my eyes, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment. I cursed under my breath.

"Fuck. Me. Sideways."

"That's some wild specifications, firefly."

It was the last thing I heard before a soft chuckle filled the air, but when I opened my eyes, he was nowhere to be seen. He had vanished as though he had never been there, leaving me to mourn over the sheet of paper he had left behind.

"Aaauuughhh!" A whine escaped my lips making me grumble as I aggressively stormed my foot on the ground while burying my head on the sheet of paper he had just left me to mourn about.

HOW THE HECK DID I NOT NOTICE!?

The all black!

The fucking oceanic smell!

That fucking smooth voice for fuck's sake!

"Miss Alit!" I heard the loud voice of the librarian, "OUT. RIGHT. NOW."

Wait...who the fuck did he just call tiny temper again!?

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- end of chapter / 03 -

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