The bell rang, and the class emptied into the hallways. Aiden stepped through the door and nearly collided with a small, pixie-like girl.
She was striking thin to an extreme, her skin pale and translucent, with delicate features. Her hair was jet black, cropped short, and spiked in every direction. She moved with uncanny grace as she stepped lightly back into the arms of the tall boy behind her.
He was lean and towering—easily 6'3"—with honey-blond hair that just brushed the collar of his coat. Like her, his skin was ghostly pale.
"Sorry," Aiden mumbled, brushing past them, not giving the moment much thought.
Behind him, the pixie-haired girl gently placed a hand on the boy's chest, stopping him. He looked tense, too tense. She held his gaze, calming him. The boy's eyes followed Aiden's retreating figure in absolute silence, and only when Aiden rounded the corner did they finally move on.
Aiden walked into his French class, slipping into his usual seat at the back, near the rain-streaked window. The sky beyond had darkened even more, the clouds heavy with the promise of another downpour.
He dropped his head onto his arm as music flowed into his ears from his headphones.
[ASTN – Happier Than Ever] played low, almost mournful.
The bell rang again, pulling him from the song. He took one earbud out and glanced toward the board where Miss Hoff was already writing.
"Bonjour, class," she said, turning around. "Today, we begin your French history and invention projects. You'll be working in assigned pairs." She held up a small, colorful box. "At the end of class, each pair will draw from this to determine their topic."
Aiden groaned internally. Group projects were always the same: his partners slacked off, and he ended up doing everything. He much preferred working alone.
Class began with another round of vocabulary. The girl next to him—bubbly, talkative, and only marginally more tolerable than Jessica—tried forming sentences aloud. She fumbled through the words, then made some up entirely. Aiden corrected her gently, showing her the right pronunciation and spelling without coming off arrogant. To her credit, she took it well.
The hour passed faster than expected.
Miss Hoff picked up the topic box again and a clipboard.
"Alright, time to draw your topics. When I call your name, come up with your partner and pick one."
One by one, students approached. There were groans, laughter, a few cheers. Some drew famous inventors. Some got food. Others were stuck with obscure 18th-century painters.
"Rosalie Hale and Aiden White," Miss Hoff read.
Aiden stood and walked to the front. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her.
She had long, golden-blond waves cascading down her back. Easily 5'9", she carried herself with poise that could only be described as regal. She wore a perfectly tailored gray pantsuit, accented with a white shawl and a striking black-and-silver brooch. Her heels clicked crisply across the polished floor.
She looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine. But her face... was a mask. Cold. Blank. Icy as the Arctic.
She stepped forward, reached into the box without hesitation, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to him, barely making eye contact before turning and walking back to her seat with practiced grace.
Aiden looked down at their assignment.
Topic: Famous French Love Poems
Write a love poem inspired by a French author.
Perform the poem in class.
He exhaled through his nose.
Of course, it had to be love poems.
Their assignment had more requirements than most, and worse, it hit a nerve. Love was broad, sure—but also unfamiliar. Messy. Elusive. Especially for someone like him.
Aiden didn't have much of a love life. A few flings, sure. Nothing that lasted. His history—family, trust, the lack of both—had left scars. Commitment? That was laughable. He didn't even trust people to show up, much less to stay.
No. Love wasn't a strong force in his life. It was distant. Theoretical. And, in his mind, probably not for him.
The bell rang, cutting through his thoughts.
He grabbed the paper, his bag, and made his way back to his seat, still staring at the assignment like it might change if he looked at it long enough.
Please perform in class.
The words echoed louder in his mind than they should have.
Outside, the rain was beginning again.