"So you brought out the best of me. A part of me I've never seen. You took my soul and wiped it clean. Our love was made for movie scenes."—Emma Bale.

••

The light of dawn seeps into my room, the hot sun scorching my face and forcing me out of slumber. I sit up in bed craggily, promptly noticing that the room is quiet and empty. Drifting sleepy orbs to the nightstand, I realize that a small note sits there. I reach over for it, wiping drool from my mouth with the back of my hand.

Luckily, I don't have literature until nine, or else I would have been tardy for my first lecture.

I laid in bed awake for quite a while last night, my mind revisiting the events that occurred with Blaze. I am still angry at myself for sitting like a stooge and allowing him to 'almost kiss' me. I don't care how red his lips were or how he had chanted some voodoo mantra that somehow clouded my reasoning skills. My mom didn't raise me like this—my dad, definitely, did not raise me like this. He's probably up there, watching me, and feeling so disappointed that I almost succumbed to temptation last night. What would have happened if April had not returned at that moment? I would have had my first kiss taken by a boy who I have only known for a day.

I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom, rubbing my eyes as I try to keep myself from tumbling over. I am feeling extremely tired.

I brush my teeth with half-opened eyes and then get under the shower. The cool water springs me awake instantly and in no time, I am reenergized. Well, it seems Homewood's infamous freezing shower will become handy for mornings like these.

I throw on a light-yellow shirt with a flower-shaped cleavage and a jean shorts jumper. My hair is quite hard to handle, and so to save me the trouble, I fork my fingers through some of the strands and manage to tie it into a messy bun. I'll try to straighten it on the weekend or something.

Sweeping away a few abandoned curls, I grab my backpack from my bed, and my phone dings from the nightstand, reminding me not to leave it behind.

I don't have much use for a cellphone except to call Callum or my mom. I don't have social media apps or whatever other stuff my age-group use their cellphones for. Mine is filled with reading applications and diet calendars my mom had asked me to download some months back.

Fixing my bag onto my back, I unlock the sleek device to see two messages.

I wish I could say the same. I thought.

I sigh and facepalm myself. How on earth could I forget such important things? I slide out of her chat and check my flo calendar app, realizing that my period is scheduled for tomorrow. The drive to my hometown would be tedious, so I decide to grab some from the mall after class. My mom will most likely be disappointed. I can imagine how elated she felt to find an excuse to see me so soon. I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who snuck it out of my bag intentionally, because I am almost certain I had slipped them in.

I leave the dorm and close the door behind me, tucking the key in the side pocket of my knapsack. I have about ten minutes before class starts so I try to hasten my footsteps. As soon as I break the corner, I immediately notice two persons standing against the wall.

It takes me no time to realize that it is Blaze Xander and a red-haired girl. And as I squint my eyes, I see that it's the same petite girl at the orientation—the one who had asked if he has a girlfriend. She is blushing shyly and laughing, and Blaze has his hands stuffed into his pockets as he says something to her. Probably in the process of chanting his famous mantra.

"Blaze is a charmer. He will say really sweet things then as soon as he is out that door, he'll say it to ten other girls."

And April was absolutely right. I am not offended though; I am more relieved that I didn't allow him to kiss me last night. It would have been my biggest regret of the year.

I contemplate turning around and taking the opposite direction but taking the long route will have me being late for class. I won't be tardy because two adolescents couldn't keep their hormones under control, and so I continue on my path, keeping my head hung so that hopefully he doesn't see me.

I walk past them, staring at the floor as I grip the straps of my bag. I hear faint whispering from Blaze's voice followed by an overly girly giggle from the redhead, and just when I think I have successfully crossed the territory, his eyes spot me.

"Hey, Harmony."

I pretend not to hear him as I keep it moving, inwardly cursing whoever made this unreasonably long hallway.

He quickly says something to the girl before walking off to catch up with me.

"Good morning." He beams from next to me, his freshly cool scent invading my sense of smell. I barely glance at him as I speed my strides up and he tries to keep up with me, but I can tell that it's a struggle for him. "Can I talk to you?"

"I have class at 9," I say flatly. I sound almost mad, and I opt to check that. What am I angry about? Is it because he was talking to that redhead? He's not my boyfriend. What's wrong with you, Harmony?

"It's 8:58, do you have to be in class on time?"

I look at him as if he has grown an extra head, and he smiles slightly, half his lips twitching up. "Uhm, yes."

"Woah. I normally arrive like an hour in—or not all. You're a really good girl, aren't you?"

I turn my face to him and he's smirking faintly, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. I look away uneasily as he speaks again.

"But you know what they say. All good girls are bad. It just takes the right guy to bring that out of them."

He's doing it again. That creepy, low tone. I should really keep my distance.

I increase my footsteps, my feet almost tangling together, and he sighs as he grasps my arm. A jolt of current flows through me. His palm is unreasonably soft for a guy.

"Hold on."

I stop, sighing as I bring my eyes to him. "What is it? Do you need anything?"

He releases me, his lips stretching into a smile. "Do you always have to talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I am your professor. I mean it's sexy but."

"It's called being polite," I say. "In case you are not used to that..."

"Which class do you have now?"

"Literature. I have to go, bye." I turn away and quickly escape down the hallway. And luckily, he doesn't try to stop me this time.

••

I had a bit of trouble locating the room I have class in. I am still yet to get used to this gigantic campus.

It's now 9:10 am as I slide the transparent door open, a few students turning their eyes in my direction. I hate being late for any occasion because then my entrance will attract the attention of the entire room. I hate being the spotlight.

I have always been obsessed with arriving at a given location five minutes early, but courtesy of Blaze and the sloppy campus map, I am falling behind.

The lecturer glances around at the sound of the closing door but doesn't say anything as he focuses back to his board.

I rush over to a presumably unoccupied chair, my flat shoes tapping against the marble tiles, causing some people to look at me inquisitively.

As I get closer, I notice that a bag is on the seat and I look over at the guy who sits next to it. "Is this yours?"

He looks at me, and his handsome features light up in a blink. "Oh yes, sorry."

He grabs it and I smile gratefully as I sit down, swinging my rucksack into my lap to retrieve my relevant resources.

I feel his eyes on me and I look at him self-consciously. He smiles, his hazel orbs glittering with friendliness. "Are you a first-year?"

"Yeah." I put my notebook on the table, wondering why this complete stranger is having a conversation with me. I am not good at this.

"Nice. I am a second-year. I didn't do this class last year, so I have to do it this year."

"Oh, I understand." I nod slowly as I retrieve my pink fluffy pouch, placing it next to my book symmetrically. "Well, welcome to College."

He laughs in a whisper, careful not to disrupt the lecturer's jotting on the board. "I am the sophomore; that's my line."

I smile a little. "Sorry, I just had to say it. It sounds cool in the movies, so."

He titters. "Are you OCD?"

I crinkle my eyebrows, and he points to my desk. "Your books and pouch are exactly aligned."

I look at them, then back at him, chuckling lightly. "Uhm, my mom is, and I guess it's sort of rubbing off on me."

He smiles. "I have a few tendencies myself." He runs a hand through his brown bouncy hair before extending it toward me. "By the way, I am Malcolm. You can call me Mal."

I stare at the offer, taking notice of how...girly his fingers are. Normally, interaction with the opposite sex would have me feeling awkward and agitated, but this guy isn't so bad. He reminds me of Callum.

I take his hand in mine, my face piping up. "I am Harmony Skye."

His lips twitch up and he leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the side. "That's a very nice name."

I smile. "Thank you."

He grins and I look away shyly before focusing on my notebook to commence taking my notes.

••

"So another thing you need to know is that the food here is nasty as hell," Mal informs as we walk from the theatre, and I chuckle as I look up at him, listening keenly to every word of advice he's giving me. He has been here for two years now, so he's a lot more familiar with the environment. Hence, his words are gospel for me, I need to take everything in like a vacuum.

So far, his personality is golden, and it's really refreshing to finally meet someone here who seems level-headed and collective.

No offense, April.

I crinkle my nose with a smile, gripping my straps while swinging in my strides. "I have tried the sandwich from their snack bar, it's not so bad."

"The snack bar isn't bad, but the cafeteria? Is awful. I think Pat needs to get us better lunches." And we chuckle.

During our shared laughter, my eyes spot an open room, and inside holds a shiny black piano. A stab of nostalgia pierces through me, and my throat burns as a flood of memories pervade my thoughts.

My Dad used to let me sit on his lap and he would play the piano while we sang along to the melodies. Since his funeral, I have never played the instrument. It brings back too many bittersweet memories and I don't think I would be able to handle it. I fight back the urge to cry as I look at Mal. "Is that the music room?"

He nods. "Yeah...you like music?"

I nod with a sad smile, itching my forehead. "Yeah."

I look back at the piano, a strong desire to play it rushing over me. It has been a long while and just for today, I would like to bear the pain and relive what it was like—to sit on my dad's lap while he plays me my favorite refrains.

I turn my attention to Malcolm who is already watching me indulgently. "I'll catch up with you later. I want to try it out."

He smiles at this. "You can play?"

I shrug, hanging my head and bumping the floor with my foot. "Well, a little..."

"Okay, nice. Maybe one day I could hear?"

Or not. I cannot sing or play the piano in front of anyone. A week after my dad died, I tried playing it at his funeral, and I ended up breaking down terribly. I don't think I'll ever be able to perform without becoming a sobbing mess.

But instead of saying that, I just smile. "Okay, sure."

He grins. "Awesome. I can play the flute too, so you can show me how good you are at playing that and I'll show you my skills."

I nod. "Sounds like a plan."

He smirks. "Yeah...well, see you around." He playfully salutes me, then takes a step back before turning away and walking down the hall.

I idly watch him until he breaks the corner before slowly making my way into the open room. Fortunately, it is empty, and I thank my lucky stars. I close the door after me, glancing around at the many musical instruments lying around.

The room is decorated with beautiful art pieces hanging on the walls and rows of seats are at the left-hand corner, indicating that they do performances here from time to time. A huge window sits on the right wall with a colorful curtain draped over it, slightly swaying in the light afternoon wind.

I sit on the chair in front of the piano, resting my knapsack at my feet. I puff air from my cheeks and slowly hook my fingers under the cover of the piano, gently bringing it up.

My eyes grace the keys and I swallow thickly. I miss you Dad. I relax my arm and shoulders and position my fingers on the keys.

The first tone that dispatches makes my heart swell with a powerful yearning. I had forgotten how amazing it felt to play this instrument. Though the thoughts of my father are bitter, I can still feel a tint of tranquility fighting to stream through the pain. This is what I was made for, music.

It doesn't feel entirely complete unless I am singing though, and so I part my lips and begin to sing "All I Want" by Emma Bale.

"All I want is nothing more than to hear you knocking at my door. 'Cause if I could see your face once more, I could die a happy girl I'm sure."

My tone is soft and serene, my tongue caressing each word as they leave my lips, softly echoing in the four walls of the room.

"When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside. And I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side. But If you loved me, why did you leave me? Take my body, take my body. All I want is and all I need is to find somebody...I'll find somebody...Like you."

A warm tear streaks down my cheek, and I stop singing, lifting my hand to sweep it away as I softly sniff.

"Why'd you stop?"

I jolt at the sudden voice, bringing wide teary eyes to see Blaze getting up from the floor behind a wall. He was here this entire time? My body freezes as the realization of him having heard me sing sinks in.

I get up quickly, grabbing my bag to leave, but he is already standing in front of me with palms jammed into his pockets.

I look up at him and he stares down at me, his expression blank but serious. "Why'd you stop?"

I avert my eyes to my shoes, so he doesn't see the moistures gathered in them. "The song's over."

"It wasn't. You still have one more verse and a chorus to go."

I snap my eyes up to him. Does he know the song?

Noticing my surprised expression, he nods, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah, I do. 'All I Want' by Kodaline, the version you just sang is Emma Bale's version."

He never ceases to amaze me. I thought he would be more of a 'rock-band' type of guy, but the more I talk to him, the more my speculations and judgments have proven to be incorrect. He gets a lot more interesting the more I cross paths with him.

"You have a nice voice," he continues. "I had no idea you could sing."

"I can't—I mean, I am not good at it."

"I beg to differ. I enjoyed it. I normally don't give a shit about anything, but I would pay to listen to you sing. It's...comforting." He says the last part beneath his breath, but I was still able to make it out.

His words always leave me flushed; he does have a way with them, but each time I get lost in his blandishments, I recall the warning of everyone, and I gather my senses.

"I... have to go," I mumble as I step past him, and I hear his footsteps behind me as I open the door and head out into the hallway.

"Where are you going?" He asks, walking in line with me. I quicken my pace suddenly, causing him to jog up next to me, ruffling a hand through his hair. "Class?"

"No, the mall. I need to get some stuff." His speed once again is no match for mine, but he tries his best to keep up.

An indistinct chuckle erupts from him before he quietly shakes his head. "You should join the Olympics. You walk so fast."

I decide not to say anything, and he sighs. "Let me drop you."

I look at him. "Sorry?"

"In my car." He nods to the lot, and I shake my head disapprovingly.

"No thanks."

I step out onto the lot pavement and a slap of raindrop immediately greets my nose. I raise my head to the sky, and dark clouds are clustering above, the atmosphere switching to a humid one as the air becomes wintry.

Blaze scoffs in triumph, and I look over him. "Oh, look at that, God is on my side."

I look away, contemplating what to do, and he raises his brow. "So? Do you prefer catching a cold, sweet voice?"

First, I am green eyes, now sweet voice, he is really a charmer. I am not falling for it.

"I don't know what April said for you to be so scared of me, but I am really not bad," he defends, and I sigh.

"It's not about April."

The rain has increased to thick, heavy drops, and at this rate, it is bound to tear down any minute now. Blaze narrows his eyes from the water, placing his palms on his waists. "Then what? You think taking a ride to avoid getting sick isn't a good idea?" He is mocking my words from the English class yesterday.

I need the sanitary napkins, it is essential, and I am not sure when this rain will decide to let up. It's just a ride, it's not like I am about to make-out with him or something.

I draw in a breath, and by now our clothes are damped. "Okay, fine."

"One pneumonia later and she finally comes up with a decision." And he smiles, his dimples showcasing themselves. My stomach twists at the sight and I look away as he leads me toward his car.

He owns a spotlessly clean, white Mercedes that appears to cost a fortune. Luckily, material things don't get my heart racing, or I would have become that redhead he had up against the wall this morning. He quickly digs into his pocket for his key, pressing a button to unlock the doors.

He opens the passenger door, and I hesitate for a second before sliding in reluctantly. He notices this and smiles, shaking his head as he closes the door.

The scent of fresh leather and air refresher welcomes me, and I look around at the black interior as he gets around to his side.

He shuffles in, cursing under his breath as he shuts the door. The rain now sounds faded as it beats against the windows, the droplets forming slim patterns on the glass. The space is warm and comfortable, I must admit, but being in an enclosed area with him makes me ill at ease. Especially because of all the warnings I've been getting from people.

I wrap an anxious arm around myself, and he flashes his damp hair, curling his fingers under his white T-shirt and hauling it over his head.

My eyes meet his hard pecs and I hastily look away, warmth spanning over my face as I keep my gaze out the window. Jeezus.

"So, the mall, right?" He checks, shifting in his seat to spread the damp shirt over his headrest.

I nod my head, keeping my face away from him.

"Anywhere in particular?"