Viktor

I see her before she sees me.

The hallway is thinning out after last period, but she lingers at her locker, flipping through her sketchbook like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. The soft furrow between her brows, the exact tilt of her lips when she’s thinking—too many times I’ve memorized it. Too many nights I’ve closed my eyes and seen that same expression, only with my name on her lips.

I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t even be here.

But I am.

“Stella.”

She ...