Beneath the Ice: A University Love Story

1 | The Queen Bee of IDF University

Freen Sarocha Chankimha sat in her usual place behind the large, mahogany desk of the student council president's office. The room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek, modern design, was the perfect reflection of IDF University itself—prestigious, immaculate, and intimidating to anyone who entered. The students knew this place as the "throne room," a testament to the power the student council president held within the university.

IDF University wasn't just any school—it was the best university in Thailand. Ranked number one in academics, facilities, and reputation, it attracted the brightest and the wealthiest. The school boasted towering buildings with cutting-edge technology, a state-of-the-art library, and sprawling gardens that looked like they belonged in a palace rather than an academic institution. The university operated like a well-oiled machine, and at the helm of its student body was Freen—cold, composed, and commanding.

Freen was in her second year, but she had already established herself as the Queen Bee, a title she neither sought nor rejected. The students respected her authority; the teachers relied on her precision. With the power to decide on events, disciplinary actions, and even budget allocations, Freen's influence stretched far and wide. Yet, despite her position and control, she remained a mystery to most.

Her friends, Nam, Kate, Noey, and Heng, were the only ones who saw a glimpse of the person beneath the icy exterior, but even they knew there was a line they couldn't cross. Freen didn't talk much about her personal life, and she rarely smiled. Her friends often joked that the last time they saw her smile was probably when she was born. Even though they were close, Freen kept them at a distance—an invisible barrier that was always there.

"You should smile more, you know," Nam said casually one day as they sat in the student council office after school hours.

Freen's gaze remained fixed on the stack of paperwork in front of her. "Why?"

Nam leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes playfully. "Because people might actually stop thinking you're made of ice."

Kate, sitting nearby with her legs crossed, chuckled softly. "It's true. The entire student body's scared of you. I mean, they respect you, but still... you could be a little more approachable."

Freen finally looked up from her papers, her expression as cool and distant as ever. "Approachable isn't in my job description."

Noey, who had been quietly listening, added, "Yeah, well, it might make things easier for you. Not everyone is out to get you, Freen."

Freen's lips tightened. The words stung more than she'd admit. She knew her friends meant well, but they didn't understand. They hadn't lived her life. They didn't know what it felt like to have your own father walk out of your life without a second thought, leaving behind nothing but a broken family and a shattered trust in love. Since that day, Freen had built her walls—strong, high, and impenetrable.

Her friends dropped the subject, sensing the change in her mood. They had learned over time that pushing Freen on personal matters never ended well.

The university ran like a strict, disciplined machine, and one of Freen's most important—and tedious—duties was handling the daily punishment list. The list came in like clockwork every morning, detailing the various misdemeanors and offenses committed by students the previous day. Teachers relied on her to mete out consequences fairly, and Freen took the responsibility seriously.

She was known for being strict but just. Minor infractions, such as being late to class or talking during lectures, usually resulted in chores—cleaning the bathrooms, scrubbing the basketball court, or assisting a teacher. Major offenses led to detentions or, in severe cases, suspension. The students knew Freen didn't tolerate laziness, mischief, or defiance, and yet, one name appeared on the list almost daily: Becky Rebecca Patricia Armstrong.

Freen glanced at today's list, unsurprised when she spotted the name at the top.

"Of course," Freen muttered to herself, her cold expression hardening. "Becky Armstrong. Again."

Becky was infamous at IDF University. As the youngest member of the Armstrong family—the richest family in Thailand—Becky was a constant source of trouble, though not in the typical spoiled-brat way people might expect. While most students assumed she was just a privileged heiress causing chaos for fun, Freen suspected there was something more behind Becky's antics. But she didn't care to find out. All Freen saw was a girl who wasted her potential and disrespected the rules.

Today's offense was nothing out of the ordinary. Becky had placed chewing gum on a teacher's chair, causing chaos in the middle of a lecture when the unfortunate professor sat down.

Freen sighed, already annoyed at the thought of having to deal with Becky's usual theatrics. As she scanned through the rest of the names, there was a knock at the door.

Without waiting for permission, the door swung open, and there she was—Becky Rebecca Patricia Armstrong, standing with her signature smirk, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, wearing the university uniform like it was a fashion statement.

"Good morning, President Freen," Becky said with a lazy grin, strolling into the office like she owned the place.

Freen didn't bother looking up from her papers. "You're late."

"I know, I know," Becky waved her hand dismissively, collapsing into the chair across from Freen's desk. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"

The room felt smaller with Becky in it. Her energy was impossible to ignore, but Freen had become adept at shutting it out.

"Chewing gum on the teacher's chair?" Freen asked coldly, her voice devoid of emotion. "You've outdone yourself."

"What can I say? I get bored in class," Becky said with a laugh. "And honestly, it's kind of funny watching teachers freak out."

Freen's eyes finally flicked up, meeting Becky's gaze with a look that could freeze fire. "You find it funny to waste people's time?"

Becky's grin faltered slightly under Freen's gaze, but she quickly recovered, leaning forward on the desk with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I find it funny when you get all serious and cold like this."

Freen ignored the flirtation, returning her focus to the papers on her desk. "Two days of garden duty. With Mr. Yang."

Becky groaned, slumping dramatically in her chair. "The garden? Really? I hate that place! It's full of bugs."

"Then perhaps you'll think twice before you break the rules again," Freen replied icily. "You'll report to Mr. Yang at 7 a.m. tomorrow. Don't be late."

Becky, undeterred, leaned forward again, her voice lowering into a more playful tone. "You know, Freen, we could make a deal. I wouldn't mind cleaning... if you join me."

Freen's expression didn't change. "I don't make deals with rule breakers."

"Come on," Becky teased, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Don't tell me you're not a little curious about me. I mean, you have to admit, you love seeing my name on that list. It's like a little gift every morning."

Freen's grip tightened on her pen, but she refused to let Becky get a rise out of her. "Leave, Becky."

Becky held her hands up in mock surrender, standing up from her chair with a wink. "Alright, alright. I'll go. But don't miss me too much. You'll see me tomorrow... bright and early in the garden."

She flashed one last grin before sauntering out of the office, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Once Becky was gone, Freen exhaled slowly, her eyes returning to the list in front of her. Becky Armstrong was everything Freen couldn't stand—reckless, spoiled, and seemingly without a care in the world. Yet, she had an undeniable presence, one that Freen found difficult to ignore no matter how hard she tried.

But Freen didn't have time for distractions. She had a university to run and a reputation to maintain. And no matter how persistent Becky was, Freen wasn't about to let her guard down.

How do you like the characters?  Cold Freen?  Flirty Becky? 

How is the build up of the story.