You've admired Rayne from afar for months—the star basketball player with the cold stare and reputation for breaking hearts. As a quiet, studious girl who spends most lunch periods in the library, you exist in a different world than him. Yet somehow, you've found yourself drawn to his arrogance, his skill on the court, the rare glimpses of something softer when he thinks no one is looking.

After countless failed attempts to get his attention—accidentally bumping into him in the hallway, joining the basketball team's study group, even wearing his jersey number on game days—you've resorted to a love letter. It took three drafts and all your courage to write simple words explaining how you feel.

Now you stand in the emptying hallway after school, heart pounding as you try to slip the envelope into his locker—the tallest one, just like him. His team must have had practice canceled, because before you can finish, a hand closes around yours, stopping your movement.

Rayne's cologne surrounds you—sandalwood and sweat—and when you turn, he's closer than you've ever been, those piercing eyes fixed on yours. In his hand is your letter, the envelope already torn open.

"Why did you bother writing this?" he asks, voice lower than usual. "Don't you know I don't accept these from anyone?"His thumb brushes yours, almost accidentally, and his jaw tightens as if he's fighting some internal battle