CHAPTER 326: THE CATCH

Darcy felt helpless.

This morning, before the sun had fully stretched its light across campus, he had gone to Micah’s dorm, waiting in the hallway for him to appear. He had lingered a little too long in the hallway, listening for the boy’s footsteps that never came. Then he had drifted to the cafeteria, weaving between clattering trays and murmuring groups of students, scanning every corner for a glimpse of that familiar silver hair. Nothing.

Forcing himself to attend his own class, he sat stiffly in his seat, mind flickering in and out of the lecture. By the time it ended, his body seemed to move on its own. His feet betrayed him, carrying him not toward the lab as usual, but across the courtyard, down the sloping path, until the fashion faculty appeared in front of him.

He felt like a fool.

What was he doing here? He had seen Micah two days ago, on Saturday. They had even video-called yesterday. It wasn’t as if Micah had vanished from his life. So what was he anxious about? Why did his chest feel tight, as if something had been stolen the moment he opened his eyes this morning?

Why was he frustrated not being able to see him?

Darcy adjusted the strap of his bag against his shoulder and stepped inside the building.

The hum of conversation wavered as heads turned. Dozens of eyes tracked his entrance. Most of them knew him; everyone did in one way or another. The freshman representative. The top scorer in the college’s entrance exam. The boy whose face had appeared in newsletters and on national TV, always portrayed as the model of discipline and success.

He walked with an air of nonchalance, spine straight, gaze unwavering. His sharp features, the way his dark hair framed his pale face, and his composure lent him an allure that seemed untouchable. Attractive, yes, but unapproachable.

He wasn’t rude, nor was he aggressive. But there was something about him, some distant tone in his voice, some subtle detachment in his eyes that made others hesitate. From the start of the semester, many had tried, some boldly, some timidly to strike up conversations, to sit beside him, even to flirt. Each attempt dissolved against the invisible wall he carried with him.

When he wasn’t in class, he was buried in the lab, scribbling notes and running experiments until dorm curfew. Other times, he simply disappeared between lectures, slipping away. No one could catch him, and most gave up.

Except for one.

The only exception was a boy.

The one who had made headlines in the student forum, whispered about for days, after being spotted with that hot, CEO-like man.

And the boy was more mysterious than Darcy himself, more untouchable. Together, their names lingered on tongues, becoming the hot topic in every group.

And now, seeing this legendary cool boy in the fashion faculty, the other students needed no explanation. They were sure he had come for only one person.

Yet still, some watched him with hunger, hope sparkling in their eyes as if today might be different, as if his presence here gave them a chance to get close to him.

Darcy ignored them. His gaze scanned the hall, searching for the silver-haired boy.

Then...

"Oh god, I’m sorry."

A splash of liquid soaked through the fabric of his sleeve, cold against his skin.

Darcy’s head jerked up. A girl stood in front of him, clutching an empty cup, her eyes wide. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she stammered. "Are you alright? I’m sorry. Someone pushed me." Her head whipped around as students passed by, as though searching desperately for the unseen culprit.

Darcy gave her a single, unreadable glance. He shook his arm slightly to shake off the droplets, and without another word, he resumed walking.

But the girl didn’t give up.

She hurried after him, clutching the strap of her bag, her voice growing louder, carrying in the echoing hall. "Wait! Please, let me make it up to you. Give me your jacket. I’ll wash it and dry clean it for you! Just let me fix this."

Darcy’s temple throbbed. His jaw flexed, but he kept walking, each step firmer than the last. He had seen this before. A dozen variations of the same scene. People testing his walls, enjoying the chase until conquering him. Most surrendered after his silence, realising that attention from him was harder to win than gold.

But this one, this girl, continued to blabber loudly, attracting the attention of onlookers.

"Wow, he is such a jerk!" a voice sneered from nearby.

"Yeah," another chimed in, dripping with mockery. "Such a lovely girl apologised so many times, and he just gave her an attitude. Who does he think he is?"

Laughter flared.

"Yeah. Look at his clothes. Cheap as hell. And that silent glare? What’s his problem?"

"Ah, maybe he is embarrassed. She sure would know he is dead poor."

"Oh, so you have seen his interview too? He is from some slum or something."

"Yeah, I heard he sucked up to the teachers to get into that fancy high school. You know the one with only one scholarship spot a year."

"Oh, so that’s why he thinks he is better than us."

"Please. Anyone could score high with the resources that the school had. Their students all go abroad to top universities. He’s nothing special."

"So, he’s the loser who couldn’t even measure up to the rest?"

"Haha!" A burst of laughter scattered through the hall.

Darcy’s expression didn’t flicker. Their words washed over him like rain on stone. He had heard worse. He had survived worse. His eyes scanned again, and there. A glint of silver hair at the far corner of the hall. His expression brightened.

He turned sharply at the corner. But the girl lunged, fingers brushing his sleeve. Her balance slipped, feet tangling against the polished floor.

"Ahh!"

Her shriek split the air as her body tilted forward.

The girl, Sally, closed her eyes in desperation, ready for the impact. From the first moment she had laid eyes on the dark-haired boy, she had been captivated. His aura, his quiet strength, the way he seemed carved from something colder and stronger than anyone else, she had fallen deeply. She didn’t care about the rumours, or that he was poor. Every fleeting glimpse of him felt like a secret she alone had gathered, enough to convince herself their meeting today was fate.

Yes, today... Today was her chance. The universe had finally opened a door. She couldn’t let it close.

But she hadn’t expected this. She had never thought the boy to ignore her, so cold not even spare her a second glance. Her chest ached with humiliation, but when her foot caught and her body pitched forward, panic drowned everything else.

She braced herself for the inevitable impact, the sting of polished floor against her knees, the heat of laughter burning her ears...

But then a warm hand seized her arm, yanked her upright. Her head snapped around, heart thundering in her chest. Hazel eyes behind black-framed glasses met hers.

And she was caught.

She was mesmerised.

"Be careful, Miss," said a gentle voice.

Micah had spotted Darcy moments ago, his heart leaping, his legs carrying him before his mind could catch up. But he hadn’t expected this, that a girl would stumble right behind Darcy, that instinct would compel him to reach out before she fell.

He steadied her easily, his grip secure.

"Are you alright?" Micah asked, his brows drawing together with concern. "Can you stand? Did you twist your ankle?"

The girl blinked, lips parting, but no sound escaped. She clung to him, fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve, trembling. She seemed to be too shocked, not talking, not letting him go.

Micah shifted. "Should we go to the infirmary?" he asked the girl, his tone soft, coaxing.

But Sally didn’t answer. She just stared at him with dazed eyes.