The lecture hall buzzed with quiet chatter as the professor began calling out names for attendance.
"Rose Da Silva?"
I raised my hand. "Present," I said, keeping my voice calm even though my heart was doing backflips.
I had barely settled in when the door creaked open and another teacher—tall, stylish, and clearly holding something important—stepped inside.
"Good morning, everyone," she began with a warm smile. "I'm here with an exciting announcement. As part of the college's Maxton Week, we'll be hosting our annual Maxton Ball."
A few students gasped. Some girls squealed. Even I sat up a little straighter.
Maxton Ball? I'd only read about it in the college brochure—an elite event where selected students were paired up, dressed to impress, and expected to compete in an interdepartmental debate showdown. It was basically academic glamor.
"You'll all be participating in the debate competition that takes place at the ball," she continued. "Your partners will be assigned. You'll have to train, prepare, and attend the event together. It's not just about the debate, though—it's also about teamwork, presentation, and charm."
My pulse kicked up a notch. Debate? I loved debate. That was one of the reasons I even applied here.
Then the moment came. She pulled out a sheet—neatly folded and lined with names.
"Now, your partners. Listen carefully."
One by one, names echoed through the room, and pairs were matched—some groans, some cheers, a few nervous giggles. I held my breath, praying for someone who wouldn't overshadow me completely. Someone chill. Someone normal.
And then—
"Rose Da Silva... paired with Danny Cole Fraser."
The room went still. Like the universe paused just long enough for my heart to forget how to beat.
I barely registered the whispers around me, the surprised gasps, or the one girl's whispered, "You've got to be kidding me."
Because in that exact moment, I turned to look at him.
Danny.
And he was already looking at me.
His head tilted slightly, like he wasn't expecting it either—but instead of annoyance or confusion, there was this subtle shift in his expression. Like amusement… curiosity… something unreadable, but soft around the edges.
Then—God help me—he smiled.
Not the cocky, public smile he flashed during speeches. This one was quieter. Just a flicker at the corner of his lips. Just enough to make my breath hitch.
It felt like the whole room had gone dim and he was the only one glowing.
And for a second, I forgot we'd only spoken once—and that it involved me crashing into him like a human bowling ball.
I quickly looked away, cheeks burning, pretending not to notice how every girl within a ten-foot radius was now silently planning my downfall.
I felt their stares like heat rays on my back—sharp, judgmental, territorial. One girl even muttered, "Seriously? Her?"
I sank slightly into my seat, wishing I could disappear into my backpack. Of all people…
The teacher continued like she hadn't just detonated a social bomb in the middle of the room. "Your mentors will guide you through the training process. You'll receive topics by the end of the week, and your first session starts Monday."
I didn't hear the rest. My ears were still ringing with Danny's name.
Then, as I gathered my books at the end of class, I felt a presence behind me. Close. Too close.
A low voice brushed against my ear.
"Guess we're stuck together now, Da Silva."
I turned around, but before I could say a word—
He winked.
And slipped a tiny folded note into my hand.
No name. No explanation.
Just four handwritten words:
"Meet me. Tonight. Rooftop."