Cleo Reyes hated the way Riz Castillo walked into a room like it belonged to him.
Not in a loud or obnoxious way—though Cleo would argue it bordered on both—but in the kind of effortless, infuriating, grin-on-his-face way that made people turn their heads. Riz was a living contradiction: sketchpad in one hand, coffee in the other, messy hair that looked like it had been perfectly tousled by a wind machine. Always five minutes late to class, always somehow on top of every project.
And worst of all?
He was nice.
That made Cleo want to scream.
"Did you see his latest concept model?" Julia, Cleo's classmate, whispered as they passed the campus exhibit boards. "He's basically a prodigy. And hot. It's not fair."
Cleo rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "Must be exhausting being worshipped every day."
"He's not that bad," she said with a smirk. "You just hate that the Architecture boys get more attention than the engineers."
"I don't hate it," Cleo muttered, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "I hate him."
But even as he said it, his eyes drifted to the far side of the hall where Riz stood, sketchpad propped on his hip, laughing with a group of fellow Archi students. That stupid laugh—the one that always sounded too smooth, too easy. And those stupid dimples, like the universe had chiseled them in just to spite Cleo.
"Speak of the devil," Julia murmured. "He's looking this way."
Cleo glanced again—and sure enough, Riz's eyes flicked up and caught his. A pause. A flicker of a smile. And then Riz winked.
Cleo spun on his heel and stormed off.
Their rivalry went way back. Back to their second year, when they'd first faced off at the inter-department design competition. Engineering vs. Architecture. Cleo had pitched a sleek, functional energy-efficient housing prototype. Riz had presented a sustainable, modular "art-home" with hand-drawn renderings that looked like they belonged in a museum.
Riz won.
Cleo had congratulated him through gritted teeth.
Since then, every event, every school forum, every group project was a silent battle. Verbal jabs, passive-aggressive critiques, the occasional smirk across the room that said I'm still better.
It was maddening.
And it didn't help that their mothers were best friends.
"Riz is such a sweetheart," Cleo's mom said over dinner at least once a month. "You two were so cute when you were kids! Remember how he used to follow you around with his little notebook?"
"Yeah," Cleo muttered. "Creepy then. Still creepy now."
But the truth was—it wasn't hate. Not really. Cleo knew that. Somewhere between annoyance and admiration, something had blurred. Something unnamed and unspoken.
Still, that didn't mean he had to like Riz.
The official announcement came one rainy Wednesday morning, posted on the university bulletin board in bold black font:
COLLEGE RETREAT | ENGINEERING x ARCHITECTURE April 15–17 | Tagaytay Highlands Resort
Cleo stared at the flyer like it had personally insulted him.
"Please tell me this is optional," he muttered.
"Mandatory," said Julia, who had sidled up beside him with a coffee in hand. "Department bonding. Collaboration across disciplines. Kumbaya and all that."
"Kill me."
She gave him a knowing smirk. "You just don't want to be stuck in a cabin with Riz."
Cleo scoffed. "As if that's going to happen."
It did.
Of course it did.
"Sorry," the student organizer said, not sounding sorry at all. "We had to pair people up alphabetically for housing. Reyes and Castillo. You're in Cabin 4."
Riz was already standing beside the clipboard, one eyebrow raised.
"Well," he said, flashing that grin, "looks like fate has a sense of humor."
Cleo stared at him, expression blank.
"I'm not sharing a bunk bed with you," he said flatly.
"I'm more of a floor guy anyway," Riz replied. "More grounding. You know, earthy."
Cleo groaned. This weekend was going to suck.
That night, after a long day of "team-building activities" (read: group humiliation), everyone gathered around a giant bonfire on the grassy field behind the resort.
There was music. Marshmallows. Laughter.
Cleo sat stiffly at the edge of the circle, half-listening, sipping lukewarm hot chocolate. Riz was across the fire, talking animatedly with a group of students. The flames cast golden flickers across his face, turning him into something that looked like it belonged in a dream.
Cleo looked away quickly.
"Truth or dare!" someone shouted.
Groans. Cheers.
"I dare…" a girl called out, grinning wickedly, "Riz! Kiss someone from Engineering."
A chorus of oooohs echoed through the field.
Riz raised an eyebrow. "Someone specific, or…?"
The girl just smirked. "Your pick."
He turned slowly. Eyes scanning. Pausing.
Landing.
Right on Cleo.
Cleo blinked. "Don't you dare—"
Riz stood, walking around the fire like a scene from a movie.
He knelt in front of Cleo.
"You're the only one I'd want to kiss anyway," he said, low enough that only Cleo could hear.
And then, before Cleo could react, Riz leaned in—and kissed him.
It wasn't long. Just a brush of lips, soft and sure. But it was enough.
Enough to make Cleo's world tilt.
Enough to light a fire in his chest he didn't know he'd been keeping buried.
He pulled back, breath caught.
"What the hell was that?" he snapped.
Riz's eyes were steady. Serious.
"I've wanted to do that since we were fifteen."
Cleo stared at him.
And somewhere behind the roar of the bonfire and the cheers of the crowd, his heart started to beat differently.
End of Chapter One