Killian never had to try. People naturally gravitated toward him—whether it was professors, classmates, or random students who barely knew him. A single glance, a passing smile, and they responded. He was used to eyes following him across the room, the weight of attention pressing against his back like a constant presence.

But Anastasia?

Nothing.

It didn’t make sense.

Killian wasn’t arrogant enough to assume every girl was interested in him, but even those who weren’t at least acknowledged his existence. A flicker of recognition, a polite nod, an amused smile—something.

Anastasia gave him nothing.

She walked past him in the hallway without hesitation, without a second glance. When someone in their class made a joke that had everyone laughing—including Killian—Anastasia only offered a small, absentminded smile before returning to whatever she was writing. When their professor paired them up for a discussion, she was polite, and distant, but not in a way that suggested she disliked him.

It was worse than that. She was simply indifferent. Killian wasn’t used to indifference. And that was a problem.

Because now, he was noticing her more.

At first, it was just curiosity. A need to understand why she wasn’t like everyone else. But curiosity had a way of turning into something else, something that settled in his chest like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He started watching her more than he realized. His eyes would flick toward her during lectures, studying the way she tapped her pen against her notebook when deep in thought. How she always twisted her ring absentmindedly when she was bored. The way she bit her lip when she read something she didn’t quite understand. And how her brows would scrunch up and her eyes. Her unusual colored eyes that seemed to haunt him every time their eyes would meet.

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Her eyes were like a quiet storm and a sun-dappled forest. One was a pale, washed-out blue, almost grey, like a winter morning just before the first snowfall. The other, deep amber gold, rich and steady, like the last rays of a sunset melting into dusk. It wasn’t just the colors that caught Killian—it was the way they seemed to tell two different stories. One, distant and cool, as if she had seen things she’d never speak of. The other, warm and grounded, like she knew secrets worth keeping.

He memorized these things without meaning to.

Then came the questions.

What kind of person was she? Did she like coffee or tea? Did she ever notice the way people looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention? Because she was beautiful—just not in the way most people defined beauty. It wasn’t loud, it wasn't deliberate. It was quiet, natural, like the soft glow of morning sunlight that you wanted to stay and just bask under.

Did she ever think about him?

Killian hated that thought. Because the answer was obvious.

No.

And yet, that only made him think about her more.

Killian didn’t know when curiosity had turned into something heavier, something that pressed against his ribs every time their eyes met. It had happened once, just for a second, in the space between pages flipping and pens scratching against paper during shared classes. And yet, he couldn’t shake it. It was starting to get ridiculous. He could hear his friends talking to him, but sometimes their voices blurred in the background whenever she was near. He caught himself looking for her before class started. Wondering where she went after school. If she had a favorite place on campus.

Killian wasn’t sure when his curiosity had shifted into something more. All he knew was that he wanted to understand the girl with the winter-and-earth eyes.

It wasn’t obsession. No. But it was something close to it. And that thought alone was dangerous.