There she was again. The girl with the piercing blue eyes…

I was halfway through my second week at the university when my encounters with her began. I was minding my own business that day, running late and trying to get the universe to cooperate and get me to class on time when I ran into her. More precisely-her unfortunate circumstances.

The first few times I saw her, she was either breaking some poor guy's heart with flat-out rejection… Or flat out breaking some guy's nose with her impressively exacting fist.

The first time I decided to actually get involved was that one time that I caught the odds all wrong. Four against one was foul play no matter how strong the outnumbered may be. Especially if we're talking about four guys who were twice her size and didn't look anything like they had the best of intentions.

Ordinarily, I didn't make a habit of getting involved. I hated violence and fighting. But there was one thing I hated more than that. Guys who played dirty. (Plus, this wasn't what I normally classified as 'ordinary'.)

I reacted before I could think. Even after I reacted, I don't think I managed to get back on track on the "thinking". I don't even remember most of what I did to get the bullies to lay off, all I remember was my fist throbbing with pain and my body smarting in too many other places at the same time. Although I knew some martial arts from my father, I wasn't exactly the type who was all gung-ho about actually putting it into practice. I learned to fight only to be able to stay out of the fights, as ironic as that sounds. When I did choose to fight it was usually because I felt that I didn't have a choice.

And usually, when that happened, it was almost always pure raw instinct that took over.

All I remembered was coming to my senses arrested point blank, on the receiving end of those otherworldly piercing sapphire orbs. Then I was unceremoniously shoved out of the way all too soon. In lieu of the customary 'thank you' and goo-goo eyes –which was what I generally received from females (and occasionally males) for such chivalry- she thanked me with something like a cross between an insult and a quite unorthodox endearment. The gist of which was how I should 'mind my own fucking business' and how she didn't need help from 'stinking male scum'.

I probably should have taken offense but I ended up doing the opposite and apologizing. It didn't make sense to me either why I did that, but I didn't care. During the trudge back to my hall, all I could think of was the horrifying possibility that my above-average olfactory sense might have failed me when I needed it the most. In simple terms, I was worried that she might have reacted with such detestation towards me because of unwanted body odour. That's right, my mind was so befuddled by our first meeting that it was interpreting everything in the weirdest ways possible.

The rational part left of me was positive that she didn't mean that I stank in the literal sense. My acute sense of smell ensured that if I strayed even a little from the strict personal hygiene habits that my mother took pains to instil in me, I would be the first one to suffer. As natural as some deemed it was, pungent Earthling male smell was a musk I really didn't fancy wearing; I liked smelling clean (and not like I didn't shower daily and just kept wearing the same underwear for a week, thank you very much). However, that knowledge didn't stop me from scrubbing and soaping three times my usual intensity and frequency in the tub that night until my body actually squeaked from too much cleanliness, just to be absolutely sure in case her nose was even more sensitive than mine. And that was only the beginning of the crazy…

I found myself in the clouds the next few days, haunted by the soft register of her voice more than her scathing words; floored by how I've never really heard a girl actually "growl" before and finding it oddly cute. Even if I've seen her many times before our actual meeting, it was the first time I was able to come face to face with her; the first time I got caught in all the passion and hatred blazing in her eyes. Which was what made me decide that I was wrong. "Piercing" wasn't the word for it… It was more like "stabbing" or "skewering". She threw phrases like 'staring daggers' and 'if looks could kill' in a whole new light. If one could shoot a quiver of arrows or a death beam with a glare, I should think that I was already dead. Her eyes were excruciatingly unforgettable like that.

I woke up one quintessentially nondescript perfect weather day several weeks after with the realization that I was caught by something inescapable (I wasn't quite clear then on what it was myself). But I got out of bed, washed up and showered, and by the time I was all dressed and stepping out of my dormitory room heading for my first class, I had already made up my mind.

I was going stop playing the fate game and take matters into my own hands.

I was going to get to know her better.

End of Chapter 1.
Continued in Chapter 2: "More Falling"…