Christian's POV

Ana swept into my life with the suddenness and devastation of a hurricane. She was just there, until she wasn't. I spent some of the happiest moments of my early life with her, learning about the books she loved and seeing them in a new light, discovering her hopes and dreams—not that she was ever very vocal about them, to me—and then waking up much too early in the morning to find her still fast asleep beside me. There were also unhappy memories: our fights, my irrational jealousy, her struggles to establish a life apart from me, and then grief for what we had been and could have been.

I suppose I'll never quite know whether she did more good or bad, but in the greater scheme of things, it hardly matters.

What did matter was that I wanted her to be mine. Completely.

I was running late. Under my breath, I cursed my adviser for forcing me to take an elective that would serve no purpose whatsoever in my career, as well as one situated in a building so far away from my previous class.

"Christian, maybe you should try something different."

I had assumed 'something different' meant a class on Asian languages, or maybe nuclear physics, but I had been mistaken.

"You need an outlet," she emphasized the word. "Learn to be comfortable with words."

"I don't fear public-speaking," I argued. "I just don't see the point of... talking for no reason."

"It's called conversation. It is expressive." Again, she emphasized words she felt should have meant something more to me. But I knew expressive. I played the piano. I told her that.

"Oh, Christian," she crooned. "You can't make friends with a piano."

There was only one seat left when I arrived; it was next to a skinny, dark-haired freshman girl toting a huge backpack who looked awfully out-of-place among the bored upperclassmen who, I assumed, had also been forced to take the class by their own advisers.

She cast me a sideways glance as I sidled up beside her, but said nothing.

The professor arrived, a bustling, overly-energetic older woman like I guessed she had to be to teach a class as inconsequential as creative writing for non-literature majors."Pick a partner," she ordered us after a brief self-introduction (she was a retired author of little import). That was what I hated about these sort of electives, they always involved working in groups at some point or the other. I realized quickly that my usual tactic—dallying before I informed the professor that I didn't know anyone in the class until everyone had selected their own partners, so that I could work alone—would be ineffective because there was an even number of people in the room. Damn it.

Meanwhile, my seatmate, the freshman, was looking around the room with a panicked expression as everyone paired up. The only person she had asked, who sat directly in front of her, already had a partner. Go on, I thought. Talk to someone else. It's not that hard.

Suddenly, my only choice became obvious."Excuse me..." I began. The freshman turned to me with wary eyes. It occurred to me that, if she had wanted to, she could have asked to partner with me first given that we were already sitting next to each other and, it appeared, she didn't know anyone in the room.

"Would you... want to..." The words were suddenly heavy in my mouth as she gazed at me—her eyes were so blue!— waiting.

"Be partners?" I was surprised by the temerity with which she finished my sentence. She'd seemed so small and so shy that I hadn't expected her to speak at all. It made me look at her, really look at her, for the first time and, although she couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, I realized that her expression carried a maturity that was well beyond her years. At the very least, I knew she wouldn't be the sort of freshman who squeaked in response to the older people in the room and tried too hard to please.

"Yes," I replied, like she had asked me. "I mean, would you?"

My seatmate appeared to consider this. "Yes," she finally assented. So that was that.

The professor talked at length about the sort of project we would be doing—big surprise, we were going to write a story—but dismissed as early. As I got up, I decided to try and make up for earlier's poor performance by striking up a real conversation. "So, you never did tell me your name." I tried to sound friendly, but then I was kind of rusty in that department. I tried to pretend I was talking to Mia, who was about this girl's age.

The girl turned her full gaze to me again, which was disarming somehow. "My name is Anastasia. Steele," she added.

"Christian Grey. You're majoring in...?"

"English lit."

I digested this piece of information for about a second. "I thought this class was for non-literary majors."

"Oh, it is." She blushed. We began walking out, she lugging her heavy backpack and me... well, I didn't really take notes. It felt wrong to let her carry that burden on her own, but I didn't want her to take it the wrong way by offering to carry her things. "I wasn't, um, qualified for the other writing subjects I wanted to take. This is my first year."

We headed for the exit. I guessed that this was her last class for the afternoon, like it was mine.

"Do you live in a dorm?"

"Yes." We discussed her living arrangements—her roommate was Kate Kavanagh from the Kavanagh that owned Kavanagh Media who, in the few times I'd met her at functions, had always been too overbearing for my liking though Anastasia seemed quite fond of her, and then she wanted to know about mine.

"I live alone," I told her. "Off campus." It was at this moment that a boy about Anastasia's age jogged up to where we were standing and engulfed her in a massive bear hug. I looked away, uncomfortable at being caught in the middle of their... hug. She pushed him off after a beat, laughing and a little embarrassed.

"Christian, this is my friend, Jose," she explained apologetically. I guessed that was my cue to get lost.

"Nice to meet you, Jose. Anastasia."

I didn't expect to see Anastasia until our next creative writing class, which wouldn't be until Monday the next week. I'd like to say that I forgot about her for a while, and it's not like I was obsessing over her or anything, or that I purposely went out of my way to go to places I thought she would be because, frankly, I didn't know where that was. But I did think about her from time to time, sometimes still trying to understand why she hadn't asked me to be her partner first—maybe I looked dumb, or lazy, or both—and I took longer runs around campus.

It was actually because of this that I did run into her a couple of days later. It was raining. She was on her way out of the library as I was about to pass by. I stopped, for a second just watching her as she fumbled with her little umbrella as well as the three thick books she was cradling haphazardly to her chest. Before I knew it, I was walking towards her and offering to carry her books.

Anastasia looked at me doubtfully, I was all wet with the rain that had been pouring all afternoon, and my hoodie was thoroughly soaked, clinging to me like baggy second skin. She was probably afraid I'd get her books wet and ruin them. But then she agreed, gingerly placing a couple of books in my waiting arms. I pushed my sleeves back to expose my skin, which was still slightly drier than my hoodie.

I wasn't afraid of giving her the wrong idea now. She knew that I knew she had a boyfriend, so she wouldn't see this gesture as anything but platonic. Anastasia attempted to shield both of us from the rain with her umbrella, but I was several inches taller which was giving her a hard time, so I carried that, too.

"I live nearby," she mumbled, sounding resigned as she led the way to her dormitory building. It was like she resented me for her needing my help, which I found rather puzzling and amusing.

"Why do you borrow so many books, anyway?" I wanted to know.

"Because I read them" came the automatic answer. And then, finally deciding to humor me in my attempt at conversation, she added in a rush "I'm having trouble sleeping in my new dorm room, and these help me."

"Reading helps you sleep?" As I said this, the rain began to fall harder, which made us walk faster. It also made talking more difficult.

Finally, she was able to squeeze out a response. "Sometimes reading helps me get through the night."

"So, you don't sleep?" I queried, giving her a quick side-glance and noticing for the first time that there where dark shadows under her blue eyes. "That doesn't sound healthy."

"No, not a lot, anyway... But I've only been on campus for a few days. I'll get used to living here." On this, she sounded very determined, and I couldn't help but smile. Catching me grinning, she positively scowled. "What?"

It turned out I had been right about her not being the meek, easily-subdued type. "Nothing, it's just that for a second you reminded me of my little sister, Mia."

"Oh." She bit her lip, not knowing what to say to that. A short while later, she stopped walking outside a building and proclaimed "We're here!" gesturing mock-grandly behind her. I stopped walking, too, and stared up at the building. It was a large dormitory. Most of the lights inside were already turned on, with the majority of campus residents knowing better than me to stay outdoors during a thunderstorm.

I handed Anastasia the books and then the umbrella before stepping out from under its protection and into the onslaught of rain.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Anastasia immediately demanded when she saw what I had done, moving so that I was under the umbrella again. "You aren't going back out in this weather?" She seemed inexplicably furious with me, though I couldn't guess why.

"Anastasia, in case you haven't noticed, I'm already drenched. I was running in the rain. Recreatively."

Anastasia bit her lip again as she considered this, a nervous habit. Then, she shook her head and looked me square in the eyes. "It wouldn't feel right if I sent you out in this weather... after you did me a favor. Please, stay. At least until the weather lets up a little." Suddenly, she seemed very small and shy again, and I wasn't sure, but she seemed anxious that I would turn her down, as if my refusal or acceptance of her invitation was of some special consequence to her.

Part of me wanted to leave. Staying in Anastasia's dormitory building would mean interacting with her roommate, possibly even her boyfriend and the other people she lived with in the building. I didn't like being around strangers much more then necessary (hence, me living alone), but I couldn't turn her down—especially not when her eyes were practically begging me not to.

In reply, I took back hold of the umbrella and stirred us toward the direction of shelter. I couldn't see her expression, but I sensed her triumphant mood.

"By the way," she said as we paused before the threshold to wipe the mud off our shoes. "It's just 'Ana'."

End of Chapter

I just wanted to take this opportunity to say that I don't go to Harvard, so there may be some things (maybe a lot of things) I get wrong about about how things work there, and I'm sorry about that. Yes, in this story, they both attend Harvard—that makes it easier for some parts of the story to work.

I also apologize for using the "partners in a group project cliché". If I could rewrite this (and I can't, because I already have the next couple of chapters written!) I would change that part.

Thank you to everyone who expressed an interest in this story in the reviews. I really appreciate it.