Mi Historia Entre Tus Dedos

Cassian's chest ached. He hadn't expected this—hadn't expected you. Yet here you were, sitting across from him in the quiet corner of the library, flipping through a heavy art history book with the utmost focus. The soft glow of the lamp cast a halo around your head, and for a moment, Cassian couldn't breathe. How did this happen? How had he ended up falling for someone who had once looked at him like he was little more than a brute?

His thoughts drifted to that first meeting, back when the professor had paired you together for the Art Nouveau project, while he mindlessly flipped through his Alphonse Mucha book.

He had sat at the back of the lecture hall, his large frame crammed into the small seat as he lazily twirled a pen between his fingers. History was a subject that ignited something within him, a passion that few knew about. To everyone else, he was the university's rugby star. The flirt. The Cass-You're-Incorrigible musclehead with a penchant for tackles and scrums. They all assumed that his scholarship was a reward for his athletic prowess, but in reality, it was his brain that had earned him a place here. His love for history, spanning across three different eras, had driven him to maintain the grades necessary to secure a scholarship that had nothing to do with rugby.

But that was something he kept to himself. The only people who knew were Rhys and Azriel, his best friends, and once rivals. They had all met through rugby, their competitive spirits clashing on the field in high school. Rhys, the rich boy who always threw the best parties, had a knack for getting under Cassian's skin with his effortless charm and privilege. Azriel, on the other hand, was a mystery, always competitive in the field, though reserved in his own way, spending hours buried in the shadows of the library, studying something Cassian could never quite figure out. Over time, their rivalry had blossomed into a deep friendship, one that had seen them through the highs and lows of university life.

That day, Cassian was restless. The Uni's Scheduling Office had merged his advanced history class with an art history course due to low enrollment numbers. Art history wasn't something that had ever piqued his interest, but he needed the credits, and the prospect of working with new people wasn't entirely unappealing.

As the lecture hall filled, Cassian's gaze drifted toward the front where the professor was setting up, and then he saw her. You. You walked in with an air of quiet confidence, your gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He'd heard about you, of course, everyone had. You were the girl who came from old money, the one whose life had taken a nosedive after your father's bitcoin scandalous fall from grace. The same girl who, despite everything, managed to carry herself with a poise that was enviable.

He also knew that you weren't particularly fond of him. The looks you shot his way whenever you crossed paths on campus made that abundantly clear. To you, Cassian was just another bruiser, a brawler with little substance. He'd seen the way your nose wrinkled slightly at the sight of his latest black eye, a souvenir from last week's match. And he'd heard about your on-again, off-again rich boyfriend who attended Autumn Uni. He didn't like Eris Vanserra, not that it mattered, Cassian wasn't exactly in your orbit.

Except now, he was.

Professor Enalius began pairing students for the semester-long project, and Cassian felt a sinking lead ball in his stomach when he heard his name called out alongside yours. You stiffened slightly, glancing back at him with an expression that wasn't hard to read—displeasure, annoyance, maybe even a hint of dread. He suppressed a sigh, knowing this was going to be a long semester.

You both sat in silence at first, the awkwardness palpable as the rest of the class buzzed with chatter. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice as cool and detached as your expression.