Many Forms of Love

The New Girl

The scent of fresh notebooks, ground coffee, and ocean wind greeted Isabelle Hart as she stepped onto the campus of Crestmore College.

She tightened her grip on the sketchpad clutched to her chest, her suitcase wobbling behind her like a reluctant pet. A girl with big eyes and a heart even bigger, Bela had never thought she’d end up here—on a scholarship, surrounded by historic stone buildings and people who wore their surnames like crowns.

“New girl?” a calm voice asked from her side.

She turned. A tall boy with sleepy hazel eyes and a quiet expression stood beneath a maple tree, holding a clipboard.

“Uh—yeah,” she replied, a little breathless.

“I’m Jackson. Dorm assistant. You’re in Room 12B, right?”

Bela blinked. “Yeah. Wow. Psychic?”

He smiled just slightly. “Nah, just good at remembering names.” He took her suitcase before she could argue and began walking beside her.

“Thanks,” she said, glancing up at him. “I’m Bela. Short for Isabelle.”

“I know,” he replied.

She didn’t know why, but that made her heart skip a little.

---

The hallway of her dorm buzzed with laughter and music. Bela couldn’t help but shrink a little into herself—she wasn’t shy, just… wary of big personalities.

That’s when he appeared.

At the far end of the corridor, a tall boy—messy hair, designer clothes, phone glued to his ear—strode straight toward them without looking.

“Han Jin!” someone called behind him.

He didn’t hear—or didn’t care.

Bela stepped back too late. He brushed past her, knocking her sketchpad out of her hands. Papers flew.

“Watch it,” he muttered, not even glancing down as he walked past.

“Wow,” Bela mumbled, scrambling to collect her things.

Jackson crouched beside her. “That was Han Jin. You’ll get used to him.”

“Used to what, arrogance?”

Jackson smirked. “Exactly.”

---

Later that day, Bela wandered into the art studio—her safe space.

Sunlight poured in from the wide windows, splashing across easels, canvases, and clay figures mid-formation. She exhaled. This was why she came here. To create, to start over.

She sat at a table by the window and flipped open her sketchpad. Doodles. Dreams. Her heart on paper.

Taped to the underside of the table was a small folded note.

She hesitated… then opened it.

> “If you're sitting here, you’re probably carrying something heavy.

Let art carry it for you.

—A”

She stared at the paper, heart strangely moved.

Who was A?

---

That evening, Bela attended the welcome ceremony on the lawn. Fairy lights strung between trees, music playing, the smell of grilled food in the air.

And then there was him.

Standing on a small stage, mic in hand, was a golden-haired boy with a grin that could light up the sky. “Hi, I’m Kevin,” he said, addressing the crowd. “If you’re here for football, parties, or just free food—welcome. If you’re here to avoid all of that… also welcome. We’ve got books too.”

Everyone laughed.

Bela found herself smiling despite herself.

His eyes scanned the crowd—and locked onto hers for just a moment.

He winked.

Her heart stuttered.

---

Later that night, in her quiet room lit only by a lamp, Bela scribbled in her journal:

> Day One:

I met a quiet boy, a golden boy, a rude boy, and a mystery artist.

I came here to find myself.

So why do I feel like they already see me?

She closed the journal, hugged her pillow, and stared at the ceiling.