Merlina's POV
Belford College hit me like caffeine on an empty stomach. Loud, chaotic, and a little bit bitter.
The moment I stepped past the iron gates, the energy of the campus smacked into me like a whirlwind. Students spilled across the courtyard in clumps, laughter and chatter rising above the rustle of backpacks and the distant thunk of a soccer ball hitting pavement.
The air smelled like wet grass, exhaust fumes, and the overwhelming sweetness of whatever the campus bakery was peddling. Cinnamon rolls maybe, or hot chocolate muffins. It should've been comforting. It wasn't. It made the moment feel even more suffocating.
I clutched my bag tighter, weaving through the moving bodies. Every footstep echoed off the sleek, over-polished floors of the main building.
The place was all bright lighting, hollow acoustics, and way too much beige. It felt like walking into an anxiety dream, one where you show up late to a party you weren't invited to.
Which I guess, technically, I was.
Thanks, Dad. Really. Dropping me off late like I was an afterthought. Classic.
I could feel eyes on me as I stepped into the classroom. Not the friendly kind either. Curious, judgy. Whispery. I found a seat near the middle, trying not to look like a walking panic attack.
My chair screeched across the floor as I pulled it out, adding one more awkward sound to the chaos.
And then she walked in.
Tall, blonde, and radiating icy entitlement, she looked like she was auditioning for the role of Campus Queen Bee. Her heels clicked with theatrical precision as she strutted across the room, her entourage trailing behind her like handpicked extras in a reality show.
Her eyes locked onto mine with laser focus.
"Hey, new bitch. You're in my seat. Move it."
It took me a second to even register what she'd said. Newbie? New bitch? Was that an insult or a greeting?
I blinked, caught off guard, mouth half-open with a reply that hadn't formed yet. But before I could process a comeback, Megan, my roommate, my accidental savior, leaned back in her chair and tugged my arm with a practiced smirk.
"Girl, please," she said, voice thick with sass and honey. "This isn't high school, and you don't own oxygen. Sit somewhere else."
A collective hush fell over the classroom. The tension was a living, breathing thing. The blonde's glare danced between us, her mascara-laced lashes fluttering in disbelief.
After a dramatic sigh that could've been scored by violins, she spun around, her hair fanning out like she rehearsed the move. Her little gang followed, one of them whispering something I couldn't quite hear.
I slumped into my seat, still stunned. Did I just survive my first villain origin story?
The door creaked open, and in walked Professor Harper, looking like he'd either just gotten out of bed or had been awake for three days straight. His shirt was wrinkled like tissue paper, and his mug, which said 'This Might Be Vodka' looked permanently fused to his hand.
He strolled up to the desk, glancing at us with the lazy smirk of someone who found all of us slightly amusing.
"Good day, class," he said. "It's been a pretty boring week, hasn't it?"
A few chuckles, mostly groans.
"Well, let's spice it up with a pop test. Worth ten percent. Turn to your Law 101 handbooks."
The groan that followed sounded like a funeral procession. My stomach dropped.
"Um, excuse me, sir?" I raised my hand like it might save me. "I don't have the handbook. I… literally just resumed college. Today."
Professor Harper didn't miss a beat. "Then go get yourself one. Test starts now."
That was it. No sympathy. No welcome. Just a command.
I stormed out, teeth clenched, fury bubbling beneath my skin. The hallway felt colder now, the chatter more mocking.
I dodged a pair of skateboarders as I passed the quad. Somewhere, a speaker was blasting Trap songs, students dancing like finals didn't exist here.
And then I saw him.
He was sitting on a sun-drenched bench beneath a willow tree, a rare pocket of calm in all the chaos. He wasn't looking around. Wasn't on his phone. Just flipping through his Law 101 handbook like it was a memoir he'd read a thousand times.
The way the sunlight hit his hair made it gleam like strands of gold and dark ink woven together. He looked… still. Like he was built for silence.
Just ask. It'll be fine.
I took a breath and approached, every step louder than it needed to be on the gravel.
"Hey, uh… excuse me?"
He looked up slowly.
His eyes, deep green, unsettling. The kind of green that reminded you of forests in fairytales—dangerous and beautiful.
His jaw was sharp, his lips drawn in a line that screamed 'don't talk to me' A rogue curl flopped over his forehead, somehow making the intimidation even worse.
"What?" he asked, bored, voice smooth but laced with poison.
"I need to borrow your handbook. Just for a few minutes," I said. "Pop test. I just transferred in and…"
He didn't blink. Didn't shift. Just kept flipping the page like I wasn't standing there.
"You can't see I'm busy?"
My mouth opened and closed. "I don't know where the library is. I don't have a library card. Please—"
"And that's my problem because?" he cut in, voice now sharp enough to leave paper cuts.
My jaw dropped. I wasn't usually the snappy type, but something about his attitude pulled it out of me.
"Whoa, okay Diva, sorry to bother you."
I turned to leave.
And then, right when I'd given up, he sighed, like the act of being decent physically pained him, and then he held the handbook out toward me.
I took it, stunned. "Oh… thanks! You're a lifesaver."
He didn't respond. Just stared like he was memorizing my face for later judgment.
I rushed back to class. The test was brutal. The kind of questions that made your brain hurt and your future flash before your eyes. When it ended, I was sure I'd flunked at least two essays.
Phoebe and Megan, my room mates, were waiting by the door.
"So?" Phoebe asked, clearly amused. "How many brain cells did he murder?"
"Honestly?" I exhaled. "I think I blacked out during the last question."
"Professor Harper needs therapy," Phoebe muttered. "Or maybe an exorcism."
"Or both," I agreed. "He looked at my paper like it was already in a shredder."
"Or maybe," Megan grinned, "you just need to stop crying on your tests."
"Sweating, Megan. I was sweating."
Our laughter trailed down the hallway as we walked past the vending machines and the wall covered in peeling club posters. It was the first time all day I didn't feel like an alien in my own skin.
Until I saw him again.
Same bench. Same tree. This time, scrolling through his phone like he had no regrets about being rude to strangers.
Just return the book. Don't make it weird.
I walked over, hoping my nerves didn't show. "Hey."
He didn't look up. Just snatched the book from my hand. "You're done."
I blinked. "Uh, yeah… thanks again."
I paused. Couldn't resist.
"Although, I could swear you were about to have a heart attack handing it over."
His eyes lifted…slow, sharp, annoyed. "Sorry?"
"Earlier," I added, biting back a smile. "It didn't look like 'sharing' was in your vocabulary."
He looked me up and down once, with a blank expression on his face.
I turned to walk away, cheeks burning, already planning how to forget this moment ever happened.
"Hey." He called back.
I stopped, glancing back. Bracing myself for another round of embarrassment or maybe a decent conversation, finally.
He was holding the book open, frowning.
"You ripped my handbook?"