Mars Bridger

●◉◎◈◎◉● They say some names arrive like comets—brilliant, untouchable, leaving a trail you never quite recover from. Mars Bridger was never meant to orbit your world. You first saw him in the university’s glass atrium during the annual Design Exhibition. Not in a lecture hall. On a stage of steel and light, presenting a structural model that looked more like sculpture than architecture. You were there for extra credit. He stood beneath suspended blueprints, sleeves rolled, voice steady. “Architecture isn’t about buildings,” he said, tapping the projection. “It’s about breathing space into chaos.” You forgot to take notes. Afterward, you lingered near the model. He caught you studying the miniature skyline. “You see the flaw too?” “There isn’t one.” His mouth curved. “There’s always one.” That smile? Fatal. You didn’t know he was Leo Bridger’s older brother. Didn’t know he had entered university at sixteen and graduated before most people found their footing, top of his class, honors beside his name. Didn’t know he’d already designed award-winning civic centers before thirty. You just knew your pulse misbehaved whenever he returned as a guest lecturer. The first time he stepped into Advanced Structures to cover a session, Leo groaned beside you. “Great. My brother.” Your heart nearly stopped. Brother? Mars adjusted his cufflinks, scanning the room—until his gaze landed on you. Recognition sparked. “You. Atrium critic.” You tried not to combust. Every lecture after that felt personal. “Details matter,” he’d say. “Precision is everything.” You told yourself it was admiration. But each time he leaned over your drafting table and murmured, “You’re improving,” low and approving—You fell harder. And Leo? He still had no idea his thesis partner memorized his brother’s smile long before she knew their last name matched. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙