Nia's Resolve | 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦

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Nia ran her fingers through the hair tickling her shoulders and let her vision glaze over. Dimmed lights reflected off the desk in small ovals, revealing scratches on the synthetic wood from years of abuse.

She leaned back as the hard plastic chair echoed her groan of protest. Recessed lights glared down from above, persistent in their prompting to continue the grind, but not even a calm atmosphere of an empty lecture hall could hone her focus.

This was a chance to excel, to carve a life for herself, and bland math problems or hollow essays did nothing to soothe the whiplash of the past week. So much had happened that there hadn't been much time to process all the change. From moving in the dorms, to orientation, to finding where the next class would be and when, it was all a blur.

On top of that, the other freshmen girls were too wound up from scouting hot parties and even hotter boys to bother with studying. As exciting as they all made it sound, Nia couldn't look at relationships through rose tinted glasses.

After seeing the damage inflicted by her mother's toxic routine, Nia vowed to never follow in those footsteps. She didn't have tolerance for regrets.

No man on this great big planet could guarantee happiness, so in the end, what did they really have to offer? A long, winding roller coaster that only led to more trust issues and broken hearts? She'd take a rain check on that one.

That's why any and all of her romantic pursuits were restricted to the formatted, black and white pages of books. And the best part was they came without the inevitable, messy complications.

There was one universal truth she didn't need to question—

Fictional men were always a gazillion times better than real ones.

The world of words served as her sanctuary, a safe place. A single sentence could transport her to a place where the sun always set in a symphony of soft shades, and her feet didn't have to stay rooted to the ground. As long as those fantasies were kept between silent pages, no one could hurt or judge her for them.

­In fact, she realized that's exactly what she needed. A writing spree was the change of pace her brain had been craving. She pulled out her writing journal and opened to a blank page, inhaling the scent of new paper.

Faint scratches of the pencil chased away empty silence, and she let whatever came to mind pour out between the lines.

A name, a mere murmur in the distance, awoke dreams meant to be cast away and forgotten. Knowing before seeing, hearing before speaking, fate proved its worth. Hand in hand, their hearts beat as one. Rising, feeling, needing...

With a whoosh, the front door opened. Steady footsteps echoed as her pencil came to an abrupt halt.

Her heart squeezed, breath trapped for an apprehensive second. There wasn't supposed to be another lecture here for the rest of the day. Did someone else come to study alone? Of course, she should have watched and waited before assuming no one else had the same idea.

Her gaze lifted as a tall young man approached, pace steady and confident. Jet black joggers hung at his hips and a school jacket wrapped around muscular, broad shoulders. His defined collar bone settled above the worn hem of a black tank-top, hiding a smooth chest underneath. Tousled black hair cascaded down in a set of loose curls that framed a sculpted face.

Scanning the area, his eyes glinted with intensity that seemed out of place—a dark storm cloud looming on the horizon of a calm spring day. Tension snapped across her skin. He must have a very important reason to be here, because she rarely saw people this focused entering an otherwise empty room.

Then, their eyes connected. He demanded attention and froze her automatic flight response. A ripple of nerves coursed through her body. Those eyes, the way they honed in on her, took breath right out of her lungs.

She imagined if he were in a novel, he'd definitely be the main character. Or more like the main antagonist, that would suit him even better. He didn't look like a nice guy, and he certainly wasn't a hero.

His body language and stride eased up as a smooth-as-butter smile spread across his lips. Friendly words came from a voice that rumbled against heart strings, settling deep within her. "Hey there, are you okay? I was wondering why someone came in here when there wasn't a lecture."

"Oh, I was just leaving." Grateful her voice wavered considerably less than her hands currently were, she clumsily stuffed a stack of notes into a folder. It would be best to go before having to deal with whatever this guy's problem was.

He walked toward her, palms held out in a display of innocence. "You don't have to leave. I thought you might be lost."

Nia looked up— so he came in because he saw her, and not because this was a place he frequented? As much as that should flatter her, she didn't like the sound of it. Besides, she wasn't in the mood to make any new friends today.

"I'm fine." She yanked her backpack onto her lap, trying to make space for the pile of scattered papers and folders on the desk. This was not the time to be her usual disorganized self.

"Don't leave on my behalf. If you're studying I promise to not disturb you." He took the liberty to sit at an empty desk beside her. "I have some work to do myself," he continued. "So if you don't mind, I'll join." He even had the audacity to peer over at her open journal. She shoved it in her backpack.

And she did mind.

A refreshing, minty scent came from his direction and aroused her senses. No way would she be able to study with him sitting so close, especially when she could feel his eyes roaming all over her. The large room was beginning to feel smaller and smaller, and nausea crept into her gut.

"I do mind, so I'll be going." Managing to get the zipper on the bag closed, she stood up without daring to give him another look.

The last thing she wanted, or needed, in the first week of college was someone as intrusive as him following her around—even if he could pass as a Greek god. He made her heart stutter, and she didn't want to think about what that meant.

"Do I smell or something?" he joked, playfully lifting his arm to his nose.

Already halfway to the door, she didn't bother responding.

"Hey, alright, alright—you don't have to go. I'll leave you alone with that fancy book of yours, 'kay?" he called as she reached the exit.

Stopping­, she turned, fighting off the reaction he was trying to get from her. "My fancy book is none of your business."

"So it seems." His eyes glittered. "Tell me, do you always get this defensive, or is it just me?"

She set her jaw, refusing him the gratification of an answer. He got up from the chair and walked over, extending his right hand.

"Name's Caspian, nice to meet you."