A/N:
Ya'll, it feels cray cray writing after ages- (yes im dramatic, its been like 2 weeks-lol)
but eh, there's a tiny (major?) surprise in this chapter btw-
its a sneak peak dibbidy beep in Kian's mind- oops- system
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KIAN
Input: corridor: sterile. air: static. noise: irrelevant.
Focus: fixed.
Objective: confirmed.
The dean's voice bleeds into the space like a dial-up connection—loud, slow, and utterly obsolete. He doesn't bother translating it into meaning. His system doesn't waste bandwidth on ceremonial drivel.
He steps into the classroom like a shadow slipping through a crack. Every neck snaps toward the door. Every eye turns, eager, desperate, curious.
Except one.
One girl. One figure at the far end, spine poised, head tilted ever so slightly—not in defiance. No. In disinterest.
The kind of disinterest that should irritate him. Confuse him. Demand correction.
But it doesn't.
It derails him.
There's a delay. A stutter. A pulse spike that doesn't align with external threat.
His system logs the anomaly.
[!alert]: unidentified reaction.
[src]: visual contact — subject: Nov
[status]: interference detected.
And there it is. Her. Not theory, not file. Not the grainy surveillance stills or audio transcripts from her late-night calls. No, this is flesh. Presence. Proof.
She is not what he imagined.
She is worse.
Worse because she is still. Composed. She doesn't look at him like the others. She doesn't look at him at all.
His fingers twitch. Not visibly. Not enough to register on the external.
[log]: tactile response. Investigate source.
He doesn't want this.
He didn't plan for this.
But the moment she shifts—just slightly, like the air moved wrong against her skin—he knows.
He's not leaving this room intact.
The moment freezes.
His eyes never leave her.
Her presence—a gravitational force—felt close even from across the room.
His breath falters. His system stalls.
Eyes still sharp, still calculative... but lost.
The machinery inside him claws for logic, scanning for the source of such a reaction.
Nothing computes.
His mind is chaos. His body, still.
Frozen, as if time itself had knelt before her.
And then—
"Introduce yourself to the class before we start, Kian."
That voice. Coarse. Grainy. Shrill.
A static shock that tears through the trance. The professor—irrelevant and loud—yanks him back to the now.
But the damage is done.
Time hadn't stood still.
He had.
Only for her.
Only for Nov.
Your Nov, whispers something low and dangerous inside him. Not his conscience. Something older.
Something darker.
His eyes glowed. Literally glowed—red.
It only happened when he overheated. When his core pushed too far past its calibration. When restraint buckled beneath pressure. But there was no logical reason for his system to malfunction now. None... except the fact that he was about to speak to her.
To Nov.
For the very first time.
He blinks—once.
Twice.
A third time.
focus: fixed
objective: confirmed
task: conversation
[!Alert]: no slip-ups guaranteed. SYSTEM OVERHEATING!
He walks to her desk.
Taps it—lightly. Just enough for her to pause.
Her pen halts mid-stroke. He watches the sway of her hair, how it shifts like silk against her shoulder. His system logs the movement. Too fluid. Too... distracting.
She looks up—slowly. No gasp. No smile. Just calm, mascara-laced lashes parting over eyes that do not widen.
"C'mon," he says, tone mild, coaxing, not the voice he uses with anyone else. "You could use some company."
Coconut. The smell hits first.
Then fruit. Sweet. Subtle. Warm.
Her scent.
His system flags it as familiar.
[match]: 94%. database entry: Nov — room B103, shampoo profile. correlation: confirmed.
Her finger lifts and points—toward an empty row of desks. A silent dismissal.
He doesn't move. Just watches.
She turns back to her notebook. The soft glint of her bracelet catches his eye.
She doesn't like that one. He knows. She said it once, off-handedly. But she wears it anyway.
Her hands are curled into soft fists. His system runs an emotional estimate: frustration. Agitation. Concealed.
[note]: gesture mismatch with verbal neutrality. subject restraining expression.
He tries to joke. Lighten the mood.
It barely lands.
But her lip twitches. Just slightly.
Strawberry.
His eyes drop to her lips.
Gloss. The same one she chose. Or rather, the one he helped her choose.
He had stood behind her in the aisle, pretending not to notice as she hesitated between cherry and strawberry.
He said nothing.
But she picked strawberry.
[update]: current emotional temperature — critical.
His system clings to irrelevant details. Her perfume. Her bracelets. Her hands. Her lips.
Her.
He should walk away. He should. But he doesn't.
Not yet.
He met her gaze fully now, and her breath hitched, which he could've easily missed if he wasn't analysing her this closely
"Since I already know you, Nov," he said, voice like velvet over static, "figured it's only fair you know me too."
[!Alert]: RESPONSE NOT AUTOMATED!
[!Alert]: RESPONSE NOT AUTOMATED!
[!Alert]: RESPONSE NOT AUTOMATED!
[!Alert]: RE- Re- resp-
"I'm Kian," he said simply. "And something tells me... we're going to be best friends, sweetheart."
Where that came from, even he did not fully understand- but one thing was known- she was his HIS to want, HIS to have, and HIS to desire-
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A/N:
*hyperventilating* INTENSE *wheezes* INTENSE *coughs out blood* IN- intense...
(okay, okay ill stop being so dramatic)
but guys that was damn intense, also i have no clue about how codes really work with like robots, so the whole [!ALERT] thing is so so fictional lol- if you have got any suggestions on robot POV's do tell
(incase my writing wasnt clear enough)
aha kian definitely looks like a normal human- only prettier
____________________________________________________________
KAMU SEDANG MEMBACA
The Algorithm of Obsession
RomansaHe wasn't supposed to feel. She wasn't supposed to know. He wasn't supposed to break the confines. She wasn't supposed to accept. It seems they were both good at doing what they weren't supposed to do. A university student-lively, normal... until sh...
