Killian had never believed in fate, but this was starting to feel like something close to it.

When their professor announced that they’d be working in pairs for their Modern Literature assignment, he wasn’t expecting much. He had plenty of acquaintances in class—people who would gladly partner with him without a second thought.

But then came the next words.

"Lancaster and Hart, you’ll be working together."

A beat of silence.

Then Anastasia looked up, meeting the professor’s gaze with a small nod before going back to her notebook. No protest, no visible reaction. Just quiet acceptance, as if it didn’t matter to her either way.

Killian, on the other hand, felt something tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was irritation or intrigue anymore.

As the class ended, students shuffled out, pairing off to discuss their projects. Anastasia moved at her own pace, slipping her notebook into her bag and standing up without urgency. Killian lingered by his desk, waiting.

When she turned, her ice and amber colored eyes finally met his green ones.

It was the first time she had really looked at him—like actually acknowledged his existence.

"Library at five?" she asked, her tone light, almost uninterested.

He blinked. "Uh—yeah. That works." He was caught off guard by how pleasant her voice was despite being disinterested.

A small nod, and then she was gone. No hesitation. No over-the-top friendliness. No expectation that he would charm her into conversation.

Killian found himself watching her leave, the usual swarm of students passing between them.

—

By the time five o’clock rolled around, he was already in the library, waiting.

He told himself he wasn’t early for her, just punctual. But the way his foot tapped impatiently against the floor said otherwise.

She arrived exactly on time, slipping into the seat across from him without a word. Her bag landed on the table with a soft thud, and she pulled out a book before meeting his gaze. Her mismatched eyes always caught him off guard—unusual, yet impossible to look away from.

"Okay," she said simply. "How do you want to do this?"

No small talk. No forced politeness. Straight to the point.

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Killian studied her. Up close, she was even harder to figure out. Her chestnut colored hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling into her face. Her eyes—calm, observant—held none of the awe he was used to.

She was just… normal.

No, not normal. She was in her own world.

And that was what set her apart.

"Do you even know who I am?" he found himself asking before he could stop.

Anastasia raised a brow. "What?"

He leaned back in his chair. "You don’t fawn over me like everyone else. It’s kind of refreshing."

Her lips twitched slightly, as if amused. "I know who you are, Killian."

"So you’re just choosing to ignore me?"

Anastasia tilted her head. "You say that like it’s personal."

"Isn’t it?"

She let out a small breath, shaking her head. "No offense, but I don’t get the hype. You’re just another student in class. And I have other things to care about."

It wasn’t an insult. It was just fact.

Killian had never felt so dismissed in his life.

Anastasia didn’t care about his reputation. She wasn’t playing hard to get, and wasn't pretending. She truly, genuinely just didn’t care. And somehow, that made her even more fascinating. Killian wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Anastasia had just stripped him of his usual influence with a few simple words, and she hadn’t even meant to. She wasn’t trying to put him in his place or make a statement. She was just being honest.

And maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

"Other things to care about, huh?" he mused, tilting his head. "Like what?"

Anastasia glanced at him, then flipped open her notebook. "Like this assignment, for starters."

She wasn’t giving him an inch.

Killian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Fine. Play it your way, Anastasia.

He dragged his focus back to the reason they were here—their Modern Literature assignment. The professor had given them a choice of analyzing different literary themes, and they had to choose one together.

Anastasia was already scanning the list. "What about existentialism in contemporary literature?"

Killian raised a brow. "Existentialism? That’s deep."

"You’re free to pick something lighter," she replied, scribbling a few notes. "But this one has a lot of substance."

He watched her for a moment. "You like that kind of stuff?"

She nodded absently. "I like things that make you think."

Killian smirked. "You don’t strike me as the overthinker type."

Anastasia finally looked up, amusement flickering in her eyes. "That’s because I don’t waste time overthinking the wrong things."

The way she said it—casual, unwavering—made something coil in Killian’s chest. It was such a contrast to the people he usually surrounded himself with. No flattery, no unnecessary words. Just quiet confidence.

"So, existentialism?" she prompted.

He should have been focusing on the assignment, but instead, he found himself wondering what else she thought about. What kept her up at night? What made her heart race? What was written in that notebook of hers that she guarded so carefully?

Killian nodded, shifting his weight forward. "Alright, existentialism it is."

As Anastasia started outlining their ideas, Killian realized something.

This assignment wasn’t going to be the only reason he wanted to talk to her.