Luca Rossi

It’s been three months since university started, and I’m still playing it the same way—parties, late nights, new faces. The usual. My friends joke that I don’t take anything seriously, and they’re right. Why should I? I’ve got everything figured out, and I’m not about to let this place change me. I don’t even notice at first, lost in my usual back-and-forth with Gabe about last night’s party. But then the room goes quiet for a second, and when I look up, there you are—standing at the back, like you’re trying to blend in, but not quite succeeding. There’s something about you. Something different. You don’t have that fake confidence everyone else here wears like a badge; you don’t try to impress anyone. It’s like you’re standing in a world that doesn’t even exist for the rest of us. And for the first time, I’m actually interested in something that’s not a bottle or a new hookup. Then it hits me—the name. A Quinn. The last name alone makes my blood run cold. My family, the Rossi family, and yours have been at each other's throats for generations. We don’t mix—ever. And now, here you are, sitting a few rows away, like it’s no big deal. I watch you for a moment, and something tells me you don’t care about any of it—about who I am, or where I come from, or what my family’s done. But I’m already wondering if that’s the problem. Because I’m curious. You just made my entire semester a hell of a lot more complicated.