Rain Chen's Point of View
She was late again.
Not that I was waiting.
Not exactly.
Ren had already gone in, flashing me a knowing look I ignored. The rest of the lecture hall buzzed with the usual pre-class noise—papers shuffling, gossip whispering, chairs screeching.
I leaned against the marble railing just outside the hall's archway, arms crossed, pretending I didn't care where she was. Pretending I wasn't...searching.
And then—
I heard her laugh.
Not the small, polite one she gave professors.
Not the teasing one she threw at Ren.
The real one. The ridiculous, sunshine-crackling, head-thrown-back laugh that lit up the air like someone had opened a window in a suffocating room.
I turned toward the sound.
And there she was.
Sky Wang.
Backpack hanging off one shoulder, sweater too bright for this grey Roman morning, black hair tumbling down her back like it had its own gravity—and arms flailing as she dramatically reenacted something to the university security guard.
He was doubled over, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
Next to him, the janitor—Mr. Luca, I remembered—was nodding along, holding a half-eaten croissant like he'd forgotten what breakfast even was.
She held their attention like they were her only audience. Like they mattered.
No cameras.
No classmates.
Just Sky being Sky—with people most others walked past without noticing.
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just...watched.
She high-fived the janitor, offered the guard her thermos, and then curtsied. Actually curtsied. Like this was some royal court, and she was the sunshine jester no one dared remove.
And they adored her for it.
Of course they did.
Because how could they not?
She made people feel like they were seen.
Like they weren't invisible.
And I—I who lived in shadows, ruled empires from glass and steel, and forgot what normal even looked like—felt something unfamiliar twist in my chest.
Longing, maybe.
Or something more dangerous.
She spotted me finally.
Her face lit up, like I was the one she'd been looking for all morning. She waved both arms like she might take off, jogged toward me, then promptly tripped on absolutely nothing.
I caught her before she fell.
Again.
"You," she huffed, looking up, breathless. "You have a very convenient height. Like a portable wall."
"And you," I said, voice quieter than usual, "have a talent for tripping over air."
She grinned. "It's a skill, really."
And then she tugged on my sleeve.
"You okay, Rainy? You look...all broody and beautiful. More than usual."
I didn't answer.
Because I wasn't okay.
Because I didn't know what to do with the feeling in my chest. The tight, aching feeling of watching her make the world brighter.
And wishing, selfishly, that she'd look at me like that next time she laughs.
Like maybe—even just for a second—I was more than just the Ice Prince.