Amelia Rose had always believed that first impressions were loud.
A smile.
A laugh.
A moment that demanded attention.
That was why Lucas Grant confused her.
He didn't announce his presence when he walked into the classroom that Monday morning. There was no hesitation in his steps, no nervous glances around, no attempt to fit in. He simply entered, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes fixed ahead like the room didn't exist.
The teacher paused mid-sentence.
"We have a new student," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Lucas Grant. You can take the empty seat at the back."
Lucas nodded once.
No smile.
No greeting.
Not even a glance around the room.
Amelia watched him quietly from her seat by the window, sunlight brushing against the edge of her notebook. She wasn't trying to stare—she rarely did—but something about him felt… heavy. Like he was carrying a story he didn't want anyone to read.
Most people noticed the loud ones first.
Amelia noticed the quiet.
As the class settled back into its routine, she tried to focus on her notes, but her eyes kept drifting to the back of the room. Lucas sat still, his posture relaxed but closed, arms loosely crossed, gaze trained on the board.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
The bell rang, and chairs scraped across the floor as students rushed out, laughing and talking over one another. Lucas packed his things slowly, unbothered by the noise around him. By the time Amelia gathered her books, he was already gone.
She told herself it didn't matter.
But the next day, she noticed him again.
And the day after that.
Lucas always arrived early and left late. He spoke only when spoken to, answered questions without emotion, and never joined conversations. Some girls whispered about him—about his looks, his mystery. Some boys tried to figure him out.
He gave nothing away.
Amelia found herself wondering what made someone build walls that high.
It wasn't until two weeks later that fate decided to interfere.
"Amelia," the teacher called out. "You'll be moving seats. Take the empty one beside Lucas."
Her heart skipped.
She stood slowly, clutching her notebook tighter than necessary, and walked toward the back of the class. Lucas looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable.
For a second, their eyes met.
Something flickered there—surprise, maybe—but it vanished just as quickly.
"Hi," Amelia said softly as she sat down.
Lucas nodded.
That was it.
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was… thick. Like words were waiting, hovering just out of reach.
Days passed like that.
They sat side by side, sharing quiet moments and borrowed glances. Amelia noticed how Lucas tapped his pen when he was thinking, how his jaw tightened when the class got too loud, how he always made sure his notebook never crossed into her space.
He noticed things too, she realized.
The way she chewed the end of her pen when she was nervous.
The way she wrote in the margins of her notes.
The way her laughter softened when she thought no one was listening.
One afternoon, Amelia dropped her pen.
It rolled toward Lucas's foot.
He picked it up and handed it back without a word, their fingers brushing briefly.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome."
His voice was low. Calm. Real.
It surprised her how much those two words stayed with her.
They began exchanging small sentences after that. Nothing important. Just fragments of conversation stitched together by shared space.
"What page?"
"Did you understand that?"
"You forgot your book."
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
One evening, rain poured heavily as Amelia waited under the school building for her ride. The sky was dark, the air cool. She hugged her cardigan closer around herself.
Lucas stood a few steps away, watching the rain.
"My dad's late," she said before she could stop herself.
Lucas glanced at her. "Mine too."
They stood there in silence, listening to the sound of rain against concrete. It felt strange how comfortable it was.
"I like the rain," Amelia said. "It makes everything feel… slower."
Lucas nodded. "Quieter."
She smiled. He noticed.
Their rides arrived minutes apart. As Lucas turned to leave, Amelia blurted, "See you tomorrow."
He paused, then looked back at her.
"Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."
As she watched him walk away, Amelia felt it—a soft, unfamiliar pull in her chest. Not love. Not yet.
Just curiosity.
Just warmth.
Just the beginning of something she couldn't name.
She didn't know it then, but Lucas Grant would become the story she never meant to write.
And she would become the feeling he tried hardest to ignore.
That was how it started.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Almost.