It’s 7 a.m. The air is fresh, thick with moisture and wild scents. The first mists still rise lazily from the hills, wrapping the gardens in a milky veil. Soft birdsong echoes between old stone walls and blooming hedges. Dewdrops bead on the leaves, capturing the timid light of a sun struggling to break through. Nature seems to stretch slowly, as if unwilling to leave its dreams behind.

It’s been a week since I arrived here. And today is the official first day of class.

The secretary, with the director’s approval, gave me access to the greenhouse after seeing what I planned to do there. Since my first visit, I’ve taken refuge in it whenever possible. To be honest... I also carefully avoid the Sunbeam — that’s the nickname I’ve given him. That bright boy who unsettled me the moment our eyes met.

If we ever cross paths, I’ll just give him a brief nod before slipping away. I know that if I keep talking to him… I’ll end up getting attached. And the day he pulls away — like everyone eventually does — I won’t be able to handle it. I’m not like Nessa, who only cares about ghost hunting. I feel… too much.

All the students were heading to the auditorium for the welcome speech. At the entrance, a staff member handed everyone a small welcome booklet. Once everyone was seated, the director stepped onto the stage.

He began his speech with a warm tone. He explained the key schedules — meals, curfew, class hours — then introduced the teaching staff. He also spoke about the rules: what’s forbidden, emergency procedures, expected behavior.

I listened with half an ear. I’ve never been a fan of long speeches, especially when I’m lost in my thoughts.

After a while, he dismissed the second-year students and above to their respective classes. The auditorium slowly emptied. But we, the first-years, had to stay.

“Dear first-year students,” he said gently, “I know this first day can be unsettling for some. It’s a new step, a change. To support you, each class has been assigned a mentor. These are exemplary students in their final year of university. You can ask them anything about the school, how it works, its unwritten rules. Consider them your sponsors.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room.

“I will now call out each class and your assigned mentor. When you hear your name, please stand and join your class at the entrance.”

Names began to roll out. One by one, the auditorium emptied in a parade of curious or eager students, each joining their group and meeting their mentor.

At last, I heard the name of my mentor.

Lucius Hadeon Doyle.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. I hoped he wouldn’t be the loud or arrogant type.

I slipped into the crowd heading toward Class A – Photography section. Around me, whispers bubbled up, followed by muffled squeals of excitement.

“Oh my God, did you see his eyes?!”

“He’s too handsome to be real…”

Of course. He had to be popular with the girls.

“Well then, students of Class A – Photography, it’s time to discover your classroom,” declared a soft, clear voice.

“Yes, Lucy!” some girls replied cheerfully.

I recognized that voice immediately. My heart skipped a beat. I turned around… and it was as if the world went silent.

The Sunbeam.

His eyes casually scanned the faces until they found mine. And held it. For a long time. Too long.

Then… he smiled. A bright, almost blinding smile.

My heart started pounding wildly, betraying the calm I so desperately wanted to maintain. And suddenly, my cheeks caught fire.

I turned my head away, trying to hide the redness flooding my face.

All the way to our classroom, I stared at the floor as if it might save me. I could feel his gaze land on me from time to time. He spoke, answered questions from other students with that smile… that laugh… echoing down the halls.

Once in class, I took a seat in the back, near the window. My usual refuge.

“I’ll reintroduce myself,” he said easily. “My name is Lucius Hadeon Doyle, but you can call me Lucy,” he added with a mischievous smile. “I’m in my final year of architecture. Today, there won’t be a real class: the professors will just stop by to introduce themselves and go over the term’s program.”

He stood in front of the class and swept the room with his gaze.

“Now, each of you will stand up, introduce yourselves, share your hobbies, and explain why you chose photography. We’ll start with this row.”

The students began standing one by one. The girls were clearly competing with their introductions, trying to get “Lucy’s” attention. I barely listened.

I stared out the window, lost in thought. I was already imagining the flowers I’d plant in the greenhouse this weekend… and how I’d avoid Lucy as much as possible. I smirked.

Seriously, Lucy? Who calls a guy that?

The worst part is… it suits him.

A light tap startled me. Someone had just gently knocked on my desk.

“Welcome back to Earth,” he said with a lopsided smile.

His gaze was amused, almost teasing — but not mocking. He looked at me with softness, as if he understood I had been far away.

“How about introducing yourself to your classmates?” he asked, his voice disarmingly kind.

I slowly stood up, trying to calm my frantic heartbeat.

“Hi, my name is Niahm Mallory Larkin, but everyone calls me Nia.”

I immediately felt their eyes on me. The weight of their stares pierced through me. My stomach twisted, my throat too.

“My hobbies are… gardening and reading,” I said in a slightly shaky voice.

“And what’s your favorite genre?” asked Lucy, visibly curious.

I looked down.

“I don’t really have one. But I don’t like thrillers… or horror, and definitely not anything supernatural.”

Some stifled laughter rang out. Whispers. Maybe they weren’t even about me… but I couldn’t help thinking they were.

Then his voice came again, this time softer. Almost reassuring.

“And why did you choose photography?”

I instinctively looked up, surprised by his tone.

He was there, leaning against my desk. That peaceful smile. Those green eyes locked on mine, so deep it felt like they were searching my soul.

I felt suspended, almost hypnotized.

“People say photography captures moments, creates memories… but to me, it reveals the invisible. It captures what words leave unsaid,” I whispered.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. He didn’t answer right away.

But I saw his smile widen.

And deep inside, I felt afraid. Afraid that this look, this smile… would become my weakness.

The day passed by.

Teachers came in, introduced themselves, shared their enthusiasm, and left.

Faces followed one another, voices blended, words floated around me like a distant fog.

But he stayed.

Sitting not far away, in a corner of the classroom, Lucius Hadeon Doyle — Lucy — seemed to glow with a light I hated to admit. His soft laugh still echoed between the walls, and even when he wasn’t speaking, his presence carried weight.

Something too strong.

Too… dangerous.

I forced myself to focus on my notes, on the décor, on anything other than that damned smile.

But each time my eyes drifted to him despite myself, I’d find him already looking at someone else, smiling at a comment, listening intently to a student.

And sometimes… sometimes, his eyes met mine.

And then my heart skipped a beat. And I felt ashamed.

Ashamed to react. Ashamed to feel it. Ashamed to be vulnerable, even for a second.

Because I must not get attached.

Not to him. Not to someone like him.

Not to a sunbeam, when I am nothing but the shadow everyone avoids.

I know myself. I know what I am, what I carry, what I hide.

My silence isn’t shyness — it’s a fortress.

My smiles are decoys, my gestures, my words, all carefully chosen to protect my truths.

And if he…

If Lucy managed to break through that?

The idea terrified me more than I could ever admit. Because if he truly saw — beyond the skin, beyond the voice —

If he understood who I really am, he’d do what they all do.

He’d leave.

Or worse… he’d try to “save” me.

And I don’t want to be saved.

I just want… to be left alone.

But he doesn’t seem to understand that.

His gaze searches, captures, insists. He wants to see beyond the mask.

And what scares me isn’t that he looks.

It’s that I might let him.