“Ronan got the highest marks in the last test,” the professor announced, his voice echoing lightly through the lecture hall.

Ronan didn’t so much as blink. He leaned back in the last row, arms folded, an almost lazy indifference written across his face.

Elara, however, reacted. Her head turned ever so slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. They were already on her — steady, unreadable. She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then forced herself to look away, refocusing on the professor.

“I didn’t know he was the top student,” she murmured to Alax beside her.

“He is,” Alax replied with a small smile. “Doesn’t look like it, but yeah.”

“He’s such a player… how does he even find time to study?” Elara whispered to Alax.

But Alax didn’t respond. He simply turned his attention back to the professor’s words.

The professor clapped his hands once. “Your semester exams start next week. Perform well,” he added, before leaving the classroom.

Chairs scraped, chatter rose, and students spilled out into the hall. Alax excused himself with a quick grin. “I’m going to catch up with Aria. I’ll see you later.”

At the mention of Aria’s name, Elara’s chest tightened. She forced a bitter smile, waved him off, and turned toward the library instead.

It was late evening when Ronan sat with his friends in the club. They were drinking and chatting, the place crowded with people — music thundering, glasses clinking, strangers pressed close on the dance floor. Some were already paired off; others were hunting for a partner.

Ronan wasn’t so different from them once, but now he seemed distant — lost in his own world. While his friends checked out girls, he just stared at the glass of alcohol in front of him, not even drinking.

“Hey, Ronan.” Mark placed a hand on his shoulder. Ronan blinked, as though waking from a dream.
“Yeah?”
 “You okay?” Mark asked. The others turned to look at him, too.

“I’m fine,” Ronan said shortly.

One of them leaned in. “Man, is something wrong? You’ve seemed distant these days.”

“No,” Ronan replied, his voice flat. “It’s just… I’m not feeling too good these days.”

He lifted the glass he had been staring at and downed it in a single gulp. Setting it back down, he reached for another.

“Hey, Ronan, what about Lisa? You haven’t called her?” one of his friends asked, surprise in his tone.

“I just… I don’t want,” Ronan muttered, finishing the next drink in one quick gulp.

“Are you still angry at her?” Mark asked, pouring more alcohol into his glass.

Ronan stared at him, eyes dark. “I hate when people make me wait.”

“She’s just — ” Mark stopped mid-sentence when he caught Ronan’s glare. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his own glass, glanced at the others, and quickly changed the topic.

Ronan had downed a few more drinks, and by the time his friends were lost in their own drunken chatter, no one noticed when he slipped away. Alone, he wandered the streets, stumbling with every step until he finally sank onto a chair outside a small grocery store.

His head hung low, his mind heavy, but his gaze caught on something nearby. A woman knelt beside her young son, handing him a small packet of food. “Be kind,” she told him gently. “To people, to animals, to the birds. Always be kind.”

The boy bent down to feed a stray cat, his mother watching with patient eyes.

Ronan’s stare was fixed on them, his expression carved with an ache that seemed to cut deep inside him. His chest tightened as if something invisible had struck him hard.

Just then, Elara stepped out of the grocery store, busy checking the items in her bag, with an ice cream wrapped in one hand. She noticed Ronan, then followed his gaze toward the mother and child. Her eyes lingered on the tender scene before returning to him.

She sighed. She didn’t want to get involved. Turning away, she began walking toward the road, her steps brisk.

Then — voices. A sudden cry.

Spinning around, Elara froze. Ronan was clutching the woman’s wrist, his drunken voice slurred, calling her Mom. The little boy clung to his mother, sobbing in fear.

Heart racing, Elara ran to them. “I’m so sorry — he’s drunk. Please don’t mind him,” she said quickly, wrapping her arms around Ronan from behind, trying to pull him back.

“He keeps saying, ‘Sorry, Mom,’ and ‘I miss you,’” the woman muttered, cradling her child. She shook her head, her face pale with unease. “Keep your husband to yourself — he’s crazy.”

Elara’s cheeks burned. “He’s not my hus — ” But before she could finish, the woman hurried away, her son tight in her arms.

Elara turned to Ronan, frustration and worry warring inside her. “Go home, Ronan, stop making sense on the road,” she ordered, pulling him back again.

But after only a few steps, a heavy thud shook the air.

She spun around. Ronan had collapsed onto the road.

Panic rose in her chest. She hadn’t brought her phone — her apartment was only a few steps away. She had no choice.

Though she didn’t like him — didn’t want this — her kindness wouldn’t let her leave him there. With all her strength, Elara dragged and half-carried Ronan back to her place.

Elara flipped on the lights and guided Ronan to the living room, helping him gently onto the sofa. He was heavy in her arms, and for a moment, she stumbled, almost falling onto him. As she steadied herself, her gaze fell on his face — and then she saw it.

Tears.

Her chest tightened. She had never liked Ronan — his player behavior, the way he had slept with her — but tonight, all of that seemed to vanish. She had brought him into her home; she couldn’t ignore him. Maybe it was her nature, her kind-heartedness, that refused to leave him alone in this state.

Carefully, she removed his shoes and then his jacket, letting him settle comfortably. Then, quietly, she slipped into the kitchen, storing away some snacks in the cabinet.

Elara went to her bedroom and brought a blanket. On her way back to the living room, she dimmed the lights. The soft, golden glow fell across Ronan’s face, highlighting his messy hair and making him look unexpectedly beautiful. But Elara wasn’t impressed — she was simply doing her duty, helping someone in need. Yet, in that moment, the lighting made the scene feel strangely intimate.

She bent down to cover him with the blanket. As she reached his shoulder, she noticed his eyes were open, watching her. Her hands brushed against his shoulder as she adjusted the blanket.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered, beginning to step away.

Then his hand caught hers. Startled, she turned to see him sitting upright on the sofa, looking at her like a child clinging to his mother’s hand.

“Mom… don’t make me wait long… I hate waiting,” he murmured.

Elara froze, unsure how to respond. His expression was soft, vulnerable — so unlike the Ronan she knew. As she tried to pull her hand back, tears fell from his left eye.

Seeing this, she sat beside him, facing him. He reached for both her hands, holding them tightly.

“Mom… please don’t go anywhere,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be a good son…”

Then, he buried his head in her shoulder, clutching her tightly. Elara didn’t hug him back immediately, surprised that a man like Ronan — confident, flirtatious, always in control — could be so childlike and vulnerable.

“Please… don’t go anywhere,” he repeated.

Gently, she pushed him back. “Okay… you sleep now. I won’t go anywhere, alright?” she said softly, as if soothing a baby. She cupped his face in her hands. He looked up at her from beneath the hair falling over his forehead.

Ronan nodded, resting his head on her thigh, placing her hand atop his thigh, silently asking for her to pat him.

Elara couldn’t help but smile. The man who usually exuded confidence and flirtation was now a child in her care. She stroked his hair until he drifted off to sleep, her left hand still held in his. He pressed it against his chest, cradling it with both hands, as if to hold onto the comfort she offered.