?

  Adrian stepped into the rooftop botanical garden, seeking sanctuary. The day had been a relentless grind of high-level problem-solving, and he craved the simple, binary logic of plants.

  But then he paused.

  Floating through the air were bubbles—dozens of them—catching the afternoon light in a spectrum of iridescent color. The dignified silence of the garden was punctuated only by the rhythmic pop of soap bursting against leaves.

  And sitting right in the center of the anomaly, enthroned on a plush outdoor couch, was Mira.

  She froze as he appeared. Her eyes widened.

  Adrian processed the scene with a distinct sense of irony. Of all the variables he calculated for the day, finding her blowing bubbles like a child remained an unpredicted outlier.

  “Didn't expect to see you here,” he said, letting a trace of teasing color his tone.

  Mira exhaled sharply. She blew a few more bubbles, clearly deciding to commit to the absurdity, before turning to face him. “Me neither.”

  Adrian smirked. He watched a large, shimmering sphere drift past his shoulder. “So, didn’t you have time to prepare for your policies? Still had time to play with bubbles?”

  Mira lowered the wand. “Well, it was about smart work, not hard work,” she responded, sarcasm sharpening her voice. “My brain stopped working, and my ankle stopped me from walking. What else could I do? Even a genius needed some fresh air.”

  She offered no further defense. She simply resumed her task, sending a stream of bubbles into the amber sky.

  Adrian moved to the bench across from her, sitting back with his arms loosely folded. He intended to leave, yet he remained. He watched her lean back, her injured ankle propped on a velvet stool. The late afternoon sun caught her hair, turning the silver strands into threads of light. For a second, he noted how the delicate curve of the soap bubbles mirrored the pale gleam in her emerald eyes.

  She seemed completely unbothered, inhabiting the space as if he wasn’t even there—just a girl with a broken wing, turning the rooftop into her private kingdom.

  His gaze drifted down to her ankle, the white bandage stark against her skin. It triggered a sensory memory from yesterday—the heat of her hand grabbing his, the frantic rhythm of her breathing, the ridiculous, adrenaline-fueled scramble as they ran from the beehive she had provoked.

  A smirk curved his mouth.

  Mira noticed. She slid her eyes toward him, deadpan. “I’m not entertaining you for free. Don’t just sit there and watch me with that look.”

  Adrian blinked, feigning innocence. “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re about to bring up the bee incident,” she said, popping a bubble with her finger.

  “Wasn’t going to say anything.”

  He chuckled softly. It surprised him—the genuine sound of it. Most people approached him with caution or reverence. Mira treated him like an inconvenience. She talked to him like they were an old married couple arguing over trivialities.

  It felt oddly refreshing.

  Mira huffed. She gave the bubble wand one last determined blow—nothing. She peeked into the little bottle, shook it, tapped the bottom. Physics remained unyielding.

  She stared at it, betrayed.

  Then, she flopped backward onto the couch with a dramatic groan, limbs sprawled, silver hair splaying out like a fan. “Now I’m dead.”

  She lay there in the middle of the rooftop garden, unconcerned with dignity.

  The last few bubbles drifted through the flowered archways. The sun dipped low, painting the petals around them in soft halos of gold.

  Adrian stretched his legs, comfortable in the silence. He looked at her prone form. “I was about to order food. Want some?”

  She didn’t even open her eyes. “Yes. Obviously.”

  He smirked, already tapping the screen.

  A few minutes later, the soft whirr of a drone broke the air. Adrian retrieved the tray from the drop box, set it on the low table, and took his seat.

  Mira sat up, still slouched, ankle stretched out like a queen demanding tribute. She looked at the food, then at him.

  “This is weird.”

  He handed her a fork. “Yeah.”

  She poked open the lid and started eating anyway.

  And just like that, they had dinner. Face to face in a garden filled with fading light, the rest of the world fell away. It felt natural. Easy.

  Mira poked at a piece of grilled tofu. “Didn’t think you were the rooftop dinner type.”

  “Didn’t think you were the bubble-blowing type.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Fair.”

  The wind rustled the ivy. Mira leaned back, careful with her ankle, and glanced at him through her lashes.

  “You come here a lot?”

  “When I can. Much better than the canteen.”

  “You don’t like people?”

  “I like silence.”

  Mira tilted her head, a half-grin playing on her lips. “Sorry for making your dinner noisy, then.”

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Adrian didn’t miss a beat. “If ‘sorry’ could solve everything, we wouldn’t need the police.”

  Mira narrowed her eyes, accepting the challenge. “Excuse me? The police should be thanking me—for helping a lonely genius have a proper meal for once.”

  He looked at her, clearly amused. “Is that what this is? A rescue mission?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, taking a bite of tofu with exaggerated dignity. “I take my humanitarian work very seriously.”

  Adrian leaned back, watching her. Mira didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. If anything, she looked even more smug, daring him to challenge her.

  He analyzed the feeling. The way she talked, fighting and feeding in the same breath. The way she flopped onto that couch earlier, chaotic and unfiltered. She wasn't just another classmate.

  She was chaos wrapped in silver hair. And he… was entertained. Far more than he calculated.

  The last rays of the sun dipped behind the buildings. Their meal finished, the drone containers stacked neatly to the side.

  Mira stretched lightly and winced—her ankle throbbed, a reminder of reality. She stood up slowly, masking the struggle. Adrian started picking up the trash, giving her space to maintain her pride.

  But the second she took a step, he saw her balance falter. She grabbed the railing, knuckles white.

  He paused mid-motion. “You good?”

  “I’m fine,” she said too quickly, waving him off as she limped toward the stairs.

  He didn’t argue. He simply followed a few steps behind, a silent safety net.

  She paused to rest on the landing, biting her lip against the pain.

  Then, without looking at him, she muttered, “I said I’m fine. I didn’t say I’m fast.”

  Adrian didn’t comment. He waited. But his eyes tracked her movement, calculating the shift in her weight. When her foot caught the edge wrong, he was already moving.

  He caught her.

  His hands gripped her arm and waist, halting the fall with precise force.

  The movement brought them abruptly close. For a moment, time suspended. He looked down at her, breathing in the familiar scent of osmanthus. She stared at his shirt collar, her body warm against his.

  Then she scoffed, pulling back slightly. “...That was gravity’s fault.”

  His lips twitched. “Should I blame gravity, or your pride?”

  She didn’t answer—just straightened slowly, brushing his hand off. The warmth of the contact remained on his palms.

  “Whatever. You can escort me if you’re that worried.”

  He shrugged, a rare, playful smirk curving his mouth. "I am not worried. Just paying you back for the entertainment."

  Mira huffed and glanced at him. "Don't treat me like some circus act," she muttered.

  Adrian replied, calm as ever, "I didn't say that."

  She let out a sharp breath through her nose—the kind that said she wasn’t convinced—but she didn’t push him away again.

  Side by side—him half a step behind, watchful—they made their way to the fifth floor.

  And for once, he didn't mind the company.

  ?

  Mira sat at her desk, arms crossed, her laptop open in front of her. The upcoming debate with Adrian had seemed exciting at first—she had been confident, even a little cocky when she challenged him. But now, as the reality settled in, doubt crept in like an unwelcome guest. Could she really hold her ground against someone like him?

  She leaned back, annoyed at herself. She still didn’t know how to deal with him—and yet she had spent half her time tangled in her own ridiculous bubble of commitments: meetings, projects, her extra-curricular schedule stacked to the ceiling. Mira exhaled. It couldn’t be helped. The Global Leadership Training Program was good—great, actually. A chance to observe, to facilitate, to build real experience. Working with Professor Ikeda, one of the university’s most respected figures: advisor of the Honors Program, co-director of the Communication Department, was valuable, even if she still couldn’t quite read him.

  All of that mattered.

  But none of it answered the question sitting on her screen.

  How was she supposed to debate Adrian Vale and survive?

  With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and made a video call. It took a few rings before her father, Harrison Larkspur, picked up. His background was the usual—an office somewhere, papers stacked neatly, diplomatic flags in the corner.

  “Mira, to what do I owe the honor?” His voice was warm, but the teasing was there.

  Mira exhaled. “I have a debate coming up. I was really confident when I challenged this guy, but now… I don’t know if I can actually win.”

  Harrison leaned back slightly, considering her words. “You don’t need me to give you answers. You’ve always been good at thinking for yourself.”

  “I know.” Mira rubbed her temple. “I just need a fresh perspective.”

  Harrison smiled faintly. “Alright. First, you have to understand what kind of opponent you’re facing. Is he someone who overwhelms with facts? Or does he manipulate the argument’s structure?”

  Mira frowned. “Both.”

  “Then you need to focus on what he’s not expecting from you. People like that assume they’re always the smartest in the room. The trick isn’t beating them at their own game—it’s shifting the battlefield.”

  Mira straightened slightly. “So, instead of getting stuck in his logic, I change the framing?”

  “Exactly. Find an angle that forces him to adjust, instead of the other way around.”

  She nodded slowly, her mind already racing with ideas. “That… actually helps.”

  Harrison’s expression softened. “Of course it does. You’re my daughter, after all.”

  Harrison, who had been checking his watch, suddenly spoke up again. “Actually, Mira, I was going to suggest something. Why don’t you take a short trip this weekend? A change of scenery might help you clear your head.”

  Mira blinked. “A trip?”

  “Yes. I have a friend I’d like you to meet. If you can arrange your schedule, I’ll fly there too.”

  Mira considered it. A field trip wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but… maybe stepping away from the academic battlefield for a moment wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

  “Alright. I’ll see if I can make it work.”

  Harrison nodded, satisfied. “Good. I’ll send you the details.”

  Before they could continue, her mother, Clara Larkspur, appeared on the screen, peeking over Harrison’s shoulder.

  “Mira! How’s life at the top-ranking university? Are your classmates all terrifyingly brilliant?”

  Mira laughed. “More like terrifyingly competitive.”

  Clara grinned. “Good. Keeps you sharp. And the new environment? Are you getting used to it?”

  Mira hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s… different. A lot to keep up with.”

  Clara’s gaze softened. “That’s normal. You’ll adapt. You always do. How about the dorm room? Comfortable?”

  “It’s fine,” Mira said. “I’m still arranging my things.”

  “And you’re sleeping well?”

  “Took me a while to fall asleep. But I managed.”

  Clara adjusted her screen slightly. “The weather there must be colder than home. Are you managing alright with that?”

  Mira drew in a breath, letting her shoulders drop. “Yeah. Just taking time to adjust.”

  Clara nodded, then added, almost as an afterthought, “One more thing.”

  Mira looked up.

  “Be a little careful at night,” Clara said lightly. “Especially around full moons. You tend to get carried away more easily than you think. New place, new people—just keep your footing.”

  Mira blinked, then laughed. “Mom, you make it sound like I’m going to turn feral.”

  Clara smiled. “I make it sound like you’re eighteen.”

  After exchanging a few more words—mostly her mother fussing about her sleep schedule—they ended the call.

  Lying back on her bed, Mira turned her phone face-down beside the pillow to keep the screen from glowing and tried to follow the routine she’d set for herself — sleep early, wake early, keep her body in balance. But lately sleep didn’t come easily. Strange sounds had begun to appear again in the dark, like wind brushing through distant leaves, whispering her name in passing.

  She pulled the blanket over her head as if that might calm her, then reached for the earplugs on the nightstand, opening her rain-sound, letting the soft pattern play in the background. But the forest-like rustle was still there, and she did not understand why it had returned after so many years.

  ?