He was unmistakably Irish.
The moment he settled into his seat across the room, he became the center of a small social circle. Effortlessly, he mingled with the students around him, his laughter and quick wit drawing them in. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how naturally he fit in, his charm unforced and natural.
Yet, I noticed something curious—he only ever spoke in response. His words were always a reply, a rebuttal, never the first to venture out. It was like he was playing a part, following lines in a script only he knew.
His voice, though, was something else. Deeper than you'd expect by looking at him, it rolled smoothly across the room. Even as I typed away at my computer, I couldn't help but listen, the resonance of it oddly soothing.
"What university did you transfer from, Ronan?" someone beside him asked.
"K University," he replied simply.
My fingers froze over the keyboard. K University? The name felt like a stab. That was the university I'd dreamed of attending, the one I hadn't gotten into. And here he was, transferring to this one—by choice. Why?
I hadn't realized I was staring until his icy blue eyes locked with mine. I quickly turned back to my screen, heat creeping up my neck.
I couldn't dwell on it, though. My screen flickered with an error message, and panic set in. "Not now," I muttered, clicking around frantically. My work—hours of it—might be lost.
"Enzo?" A voice called my name. I turned to see a girl with dyed hair and an alternative fashion sense. She tilted her head, her expression curious.
"You're Enzo, right?"
"Uh, yeah," I replied cautiously.
"I knew it!" she exclaimed, spinning back to a group of students behind her. "See? I told you it was him!"
I blinked, completely lost. "Sorry, but… you are?"
She laughed. "Oh, come on, it's me, Valentina!"
The name didn't ring a bell immediately, but the more I studied her face, the more it clicked. "Valentina? From high school?"
She clasped her hands, beaming. "Yep! I look different, huh?"
"Very," I admitted. "But, uh, not in a bad way. It suits you."
Her grin widened. "Thanks! Hey, we're about to grab lunch at WcDonald's. Want to join us?"
I perked up, almost leaping out of my chair. "Can I?"
"Of course!"
But just as quickly, I deflated. "Actually… I've got this program issue. I should fix it before I lose everything."
Valentina leaned over, studying my screen. "What's the problem? Maybe I can help."
As I explained the error, her group began to gather around. A red-haired guy named Matt winced sympathetically. "Oof, I've had that happen. Lost a ton of work. You're probably looking at a redo."
I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. Why did this always happen to me?
"Is there nothing we can do?" Valentina asked, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.
The group buzzed with suggestions, but nothing seemed promising. Then, a deep, melodic voice cut through the noise.
"There's a way to recover the data."
Ronan's presence was sudden and commanding. He leaned over my shoulder, his citrus soap scented clothes filling the air. He navigated my screen with purpose, his side profile sharp and striking—dark brows, angular jaw, eyes like glaciers looked slightly intimidating.
"This folder here," he murmured, "contains your autosave backups. The last one was ten minutes ago, so we're in luck. The error happened because your mesh had too many faces when you subdivided it. Keep the count lower next time."
"Oh…" I muttered, embarrassed but relieved. "Thank you."
"No bother," he said with a smile, his dimples softening his otherwise sharp features.
"Wow, Ronan!" Valentina clapped her hands. "Day one, and you're already a hero!"
He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "I've dealt with this before. Trust me, I know the frustration. Glad we could save his work."
"Luck of the Irish, huh?" Valentina teased, nudging me with a wink.
Ronan shook his head with a laugh. "Don't start with that old stereotype. I'm just good at what I do."
And as I'd soon learn, he was good at a lot of things.