Master of his heart (Brielle and Max)

He exuded a cold aura, seldom speaking or smiling, regardless of who he was dealing with.

Brielle had seen her fair share of 18 or 19-year-old lads, their laughter as fresh and pure as a spring breeze, their gazes as tender as a starry night sky.

But it wasn't until she met Max that she realized boys like him existed. He's graceful as a marble statue. Simply standing there, he could stir a garden into bloom. If Max hadn't brought her back to Beaconsfield College, she would've kept it all to herself, locked away as a secret in her heart.

But Max did bring her back, and just days before the centennial celebration, no less.

"Max, you probably don't remember, do you?"

Max didn't want to lie to her. He really didn't remember much.

The first time he came to Beaconsfield College, after reciting his piece, his mind was swamped with thoughts of Wall Street.

Numbers, algorithms, and investments-these words flooded his thoughts so much that he barely noticed who had offered him flowers.

He just vaguely recalled a pretty, serene-looking student.

Watching him struggle to remember brought a chuckle to Brielle's lips, and she laughed out loud. "Forget it, it's not important."

Life isn't always smooth sailing. If every fleeting glance were reciprocated, the world wouldn't be filled with so many tales of joy and sorrow, unions and partings. As she finished, her face was gently cradled in someone's hands. A kiss landed near her lips, and she heard him say, "Let this be a kiss from 19-year-old me." Brielle, feeling slightly uncomfortable, pushed him away, her lips curving into a reluctant smile.

presented flowers on stage, she

it was the first time she felt the chasm between them. They were only a finger's width apart, yet he

her very soul had been dazzled, and that night

had kissed her in that dream. It's a restrained and polite kiss, just a light

dream scene strangely merged with

emotion brewed within

and at first, she

remember her face, much less bother to ask her

think that years later,

shock of that

suddenly took an

one lowly, as humble as a flower in the corner of a wall. Yet even that flower would yearn for a sliver of sunfight's attention to bloom into its

en

the impossibility of

she wouldn't actively like someone who didn't like her back. Only if someone approached her first, would she dare to tentatively reach

don't leave now, the corn dog stand will be

nodded, following her into the bustling school

lit up upon