Long before laughter filled their apartment and bunny ears became a part of his everyday life, she had only been a passing presence. A girl in the same lecture hall, the same crowded campus corridor, the same world—but never close enough to touch.

He hadn’t noticed her at first. Not in the way that mattered.

Her name was Elara — quiet, like the sound of rain against glass. He’d only heard it during attendance, a soft syllable that somehow stayed with him.

She was just another face among many, sitting two rows ahead of him, her hair falling loosely over her notebook as she scribbled in hurried, slanted handwriting. She rarely spoke, except when professors called on her, and even then her answers were short, practical, as though she wanted the spotlight gone from her as quickly as possible.

But one day—just one ordinary, unremarkable day—he saw her differently.

It was raining outside. Students filed into the lecture hall, damp umbrellas in hand, muttering about the weather. He sat in his usual place at the back, half-listening, half-bored, when she walked in, brushing raindrops from her sleeves. For the first time, he really looked at her.

Her steps were quick but quiet, as though she was trying to take up as little space as possible. She avoided the clusters of noisy students laughing and talking; she didn’t even glance at the boys who tried to call out a greeting as she passed. Her expression was neutral, calm, almost unreadable, and she made her way directly to her usual seat without hesitation—as if she had built an invisible circle around herself that no one else could cross.

He noticed how she carried herself differently from the rest. While other girls whispered to their friends, scrolling through their phones or leaning across desks to chat, she opened her notebook and immediately focused on her pen, tapping it against the page to test the ink. No wasted words, no wandering eyes. It was as though she lived in her own orbit.

And somehow… that fascinated him.

At first, it was small things: the way her brow furrowed when she was concentrating, the faint crease between her eyebrows when the lecture grew confusing. The way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, almost impatiently, when they fell into her eyes. He noticed how she rarely smiled at anyone, but when she did—when she found something quietly amusing to herself—her lips curved into the faintest smile, one that slipped away as quickly as it came, as though she was guarding even that part of herself.

Unlike others, she never lingered in groups after class. She packed up quickly, her head lowered, her steps steady. He realised she didn’t talk to boys at all—not in the friendly, casual way most girls did. If a guy asked her something in passing, she answered politely, but only in clipped words, enough to end the conversation without being rude.

And that, strangely, drew him in even more.

From then on, he found his eyes seeking her out, even when he told himself not to. He memorised her little habits—the way she always ordered tea instead of coffee at the campus café, the way she sat in the farthest corner of the library, surrounded by old, worn-out novels. She blended into the background for everyone else. But for him, she stood out.

He fell quietly. Slowly. Silently.

And she had no idea.

One afternoon, as he left the library, he caught sight of her sitting alone at a table by the window. Her chin rested on her palm, her book open but unread, her gaze drifting outside to the rain-soaked garden. The grey light caught on her face, softening her features, and for the first time, he noticed the loneliness in her eyes.

Not sadness—something deeper. A distance. As though she carried a world inside her that no one else was allowed to see.

His steps faltered. For a moment, he thought about walking toward her, about saying something—anything. But the courage never reached his lips. Instead, he turned away, convincing himself it wasn’t the right time.

Still, the image stayed with him long after.

And maybe that was the moment it truly began—when she was just a quiet girl by the window, and he, without realising it, had already started to fall.