To Be With You : Beneath Your Paradise

Chapter Seven

                           Anastasia 

                           🍋 𓍯𓂃𓏧
 

The morning air nips at my cheeks as I step onto campus, anxiety buzzing quietly beneath my skin. Everything felt too loud,the chatter of students, the hum of traffic from the street, even the crunch of leaves beneath my boots. I pull my bag closer, glancing up at the towering glass facade of the Art and Design building.

And then I see him.

Jack.

His figure is hard to miss—tall, broad shoulders, dark hair ruffled from his helmet. He stands by his motorcycle like he owns the ground beneath him. He’s watching me.

My breath catches, and for a split second, everything else blurs. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but I feel it. Sharp and electric.

Then I see it.

My ID.

Dangling casually from his belt like it belongs to him.

My fingers tighten on the strap of my bag as a surge of panic floods my chest. Why does he still have it? Why hasn’t he said anything? Part of me wants to storm up to him, demand it back. I bite my lip, torn between marching up to him and asking for it back or crawling into a bush and staying there for the rest of the semester. But before I could do either a voice calls his name ,cheerful, loud, familiar. Mel.

Instead, I taste the faint sting of nerves.

I shake my head, forcing myself to look away. There were more important things to worry about. Like finding my seminar room before the hour passed me by.

I wander down the corridor, glancing helplessly at the numbers posted on each classroom door. None of them matched the one on my schedule. I check my phone again. Room 2.14 – Design Concepts in Spatial Arrangement.

Where the hell was 2.14?

"Excuse me," I say softly to a passing student. They smiled apologetically and kept walking.

I sigh, gripping the strap of my bag tightly.

"Hey—uh, you okay?"

A voice behind me made me jump.

I turn around to find someone with long, wavy hair that brush their shoulders and soft eyes the color of honey. Their expression was warm, kind—not invasive, just quietly concerned.

"You look a little lost," they add with a gentle smile.

I hesitate. "Yeah, I—I'm supposed to be in 2.14? For a Design seminar? But none of the doors—"

"You’re in the right building, don't worry." They glance at my schedule. "Ah, Spatial Arrangement? That’s just down the hall. I’m actually heading to the same class."

"You are?"

He nods. "Yeah. I’m not in Interior Design though,I study Art. But the seminar’s about how space affects mood and movement, so it crosses over. Color theory, composition, perception… it all links. Kind of cool "he says with a warm smile as we made our way to our lecture

"Anyways. I’m Eden."He offers his hand.

"Anastasia," I reply, shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Anastasia. Come on,I’ll show you."

We walk side by side, and somehow the air feels easier. His presence is calm and welcoming.I catch myself glancing at him once or twice as we walk, wondering how someone could make a stranger feel this… safe.

The classroom is smaller than I expected. Soft overhead lights, large tables scattered with sketch pads and color swatches. It smells faintly of graphite and lavender,oddly comforting.

I find a spot by the window and sink into my seat with relief. I need a moment. Just one breath.

Then I glance to my right.

Eden’s there, sliding into the chair next to mine with a smile. "Hope you don’t mind."

I blink. "No. Not at all."

I open my bag and pull out my sketchbook, tracing the worn edge of its spine as I flip to a blank page. The pencil in my hand feels better than words.

"You draw?"Eden asks, leaning over a little.

"A bit. Helps me think."

He nods, seeming to understand more than he says.

A voice calls from across the room. "Eden!"

We both turn as a guy walks over, tall with paint-streaked jeans and an easy grin. He bumps Eden’s shoulder and they shake hands like old friends.

They fall into easy conversation- laughing quietly, talking about some exhibit they went to over the weekend. I sit there, half-smiling, pretending to busy myself with the edge of my sketchbook, but I feel awkward, like I’ve stumbled into someone else’s life.

And then the lecturer enters.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks to the board and flips on the projector.

On the screen appears a single word:

"EMOTION."

The room stills.

"Welcome," she says. "Today, we’ll explore how emotion lives in space,how a room can echo fear, comfort, nostalgia. How every angle and object affects the body before the mind even realizes it."

I steal one last glance at Eden beside me.

He’s already scribbling notes.

I let my pencil move too, slow and steady.

And for the first time today, I forget about the ID.
Forget about Jack.
Forget about everything but the soft hum of a pencil in my hand
and the quiet, steady breath of someone beside me who just allows me to be in my own silence .