Morning brushed cool against Aria’s cheeks as she crossed the quiet street. September light stretched over slate-gray rooftops, pale and steady. The pavements glistened from last night’s rain, as if the city had been washed out to dry.

The roads were just beginning to stir. Bicycles whispered by. Reflections danced softly in the canal water, rippling with the occasional glide of a boat.

It was the kind of morning that felt like a page half-written—clean, open, waiting.

Aria adjusted the strap of her tote, boots tapping a slow rhythm on the walkway.

Even now, in her third year, these days always arrived with that gentle ache of beginning. Not nerves. Not excitement. Something quieter. Steadier. Like the thrum of something unfinished.

The university came into view, ivy trailing its aged stone.

In the courtyard, the crowd was starting to swell—new faces trailing in like migrating birds, eyes wide, clutching orientation packets and coffee cups too big for their hands. The familiar rhythm rose around her: rolling suitcase wheels, overlapping introductions, the occasional frantic call.

A glint of light slipped across her badge as she walked toward the hall, Student Volunteer: Aria swaying with her pace. She pulled her bag higher on her shoulder; the frayed strap tugging at the sleeve of her flannel—soft, oversized, perfectly worn. Her glasses edged down again. She nudged them up, the gesture quiet and habitual.

As she neared the café, a warm mix of dark roast and vanilla rose to meet her, threading with a sweetness she couldn’t quite name. It curled around her like an invitation, momentarily louder than the chatter of students or the squeak of suitcase wheels over cobblestone.

Her stomach answered with a muted protest—an unobtrusive reminder of the breakfast she’d skipped. She adjusted the clipboard under her arm, the check-in sheets crinkled at the edges, and angled toward caffeine and a bit of comfort—

Her phone buzzed, abrupt against her palm.

Maya: Heading over with caffeine and inevitable chaos. Also: gossip. Wait near the lecture hall.

Aria smiled.

Every semester arrived with its usual cadence.

Known. Predictable.

Still, something flickered underneath, a question she hadn’t answered, a whisper asking whether she still belonged on this path.

Volunteering made things easier. It kept her hands busy, her mind from circling the decisions she wasn’t sure she trusted. Sometimes, late at night, she wondered if her choice had been a misstep—if this was rebuilding or simply rerouting. But the thought never held still long enough to name.

Near the front steps of the hall, she slowed, observing the cluster of first-years with a careful blend of interest and distance. They hovered in uneven groups, hands full of bags, papers, nerves. She knew that particular unease—the hope that no one could see how lost you felt.

She had that same look once.

Maybe still did, on some days.

The difference now was—she knew the routine. The soft pulse of belonging, of knowing where to go even when the melody still felt new.

“Aria!”

A lilting voice rang through the air like a sudden storm.

She turned instinctively.

Trust Maya to arrive like a rush wrapped in denim, balancing two coffee cups. Her curly hair was piled in a messy high bun, oversized hoops dangling as she approached.

“For you, milady.”

Aria raised her clipboard in mock grace. “Bless you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Maya handed her the cup, then scanned the crowd, lips twitching. “So. There’s a rumor.”

“Of course there is.”

Maya leaned in as they moved towards the check-in table. “Someone big is showing up today. Like, world-famous kind of big.”

“Famous? Who?”

Maya didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted her chin towards the crowd, her expression unreadable but eyes sharp with meaning.

Aria followed the direction of her gaze, brows drawing together—then paused.

The shift wasn’t immediate. It crept in slowly, like a change in the weather.

A hush beneath the usual chatter.

Movement that seemed too synchronized to be accidental—heads turning, shoulders straightening, phones lifted just slightly but deliberately.

At first, she didn’t look.

She felt it.

That peculiar stillness—not silence, but a subtle hold of breath. Like the air had folded in on itself for a moment, waiting. The kind of pause that doesn’t stop time, but tugs at it gently—just enough to notice.

And then, her eyes followed the ripple.

He moved through the crowd as if he’d always known its shape, unhurried, head slightly lowered, listening to something quieter than the chatter around him. His dark, wavy hair curled lightly at the edges, the kind of tousled that spoke more of wind than mirror. The hoodie hung loose, its sleeves tugged halfway down, hands buried in pockets of soft gray cotton. Black jeans, worn-in boots.

Nothing about him called attention.

And yet, the air seemed to shimmer around him.

Reyhaan.

The name floated to the front of her mind uninvited, as familiar as a lyric hummed in an empty kitchen.

He didn’t look lost.

Didn’t look like he was performing, either.

He seemed like someone who didn’t need to try to belong.

And somehow, that made people look twice.

Aria’s grip against the paper cup tightened, the warmth grounding but not quite steadying.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Just watched—or rather, registered.

She knew that face—not in the loud, poster-on-the-wall way, but in a softer sense. The kind you remember at 2 a.m., when a song keeps you afloat. But here, in a hoodie and boots, slipping past suitcase wheels and half-finished conversations, he wasn’t a headline.

He was just… here.

And for some reason, that felt louder than anything else.

Aria took a sip she didn’t quite taste. Beside her, she felt Maya go still. “He’s coming our way,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could reel them in.

Aria didn’t answer.

Rather, she lowered her cup slowly—fingers brushing its rim in time with her heartbeat.

Reyhaan stopped in front of the table. His shoulders were relaxed, the hood of his sweatshirt pushed back slightly. He glanced around, took in the check-in sheets, the flyers, and the students waiting.

Then his gaze flicked to her. Only for a moment.

But something in it held.

Not recognition or curiosity. Just… stillness.

He reached for the pen to sign-in. “Reyhaan,” he said simply, writing the name like it was any other. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It slipped out gently, like the last note of a song meant for one person, not a crowd.

Aria handed him a welcome packet without a word, the edges of the folder brushing her palm.

“Thanks,” his mouth tugging into something close to a smile.

She caught herself nodding, a quiet reflex.

“Welcome to the chaos.”

Reyhaan huffed a soft laugh; the sound caught between amusement and something more cautious. “Looking forward to it.”

And then, just as easily, he turned and walked toward the building behind her, welcome packet tucked under his arm like he hadn’t just sent the courtyard into a hushed kind of spin.

Maya let out a stunned breath.

“Okay,” she muttered. “So. He’s enrolled. That’s… that’s a thing.”

Aria took another sip, composing herself. The warmth hit her chest like a soft reset.

“He probably wants a normal year.”

“Aren’t we all.”

Maya’s eyes still followed him as he slipped through the door.

Then, a beat later she nudged Aria gently with her elbow. “You handled that well, by the way. Not a single swoon. I’m impressed.”

“He’s just a student.”

Maya snorted. “A student who’s currently the face of six billboards in Amsterdam.” She gave her a look. “One of them practically waves at you when you cross Leidseplein.”

Shaking her head, Aria pretended to focus on the clipboard again, even though her eyes briefly flicked toward the building entrance.

“Well, I’m not walking around staring at ads.”

“Mm-hm,” Maya sipped from her cup like it sealed the conversation, but her grin lingered.