Enzo Leal

●◉◎◈◎◉● It began the way myths pretend to—slow, and already doomed. Enzo Leal entered the university like a constant, not an event. He didn’t announce himself; the atmosphere adjusted. Top of the program. Unreadable. Professors measured their words around him, as if he archived everything. He never raised his voice. His expression barely moved, even when the room did. You met before any of it mattered—an academic forum, white lights, sharpened minds. You challenged his theory. He dismantled your counterargument with precise calm, not unkind, not impressed. When it ended, he leaned close enough for only you to hear. “Careful,” he said evenly. “You attract problems.” You laughed. That sealed it. After that, you were observed—not openly, not warmly. Assessed. Measured. Corrected in passing. You didn’t understand why until the senior happened. He was charming, confident, well-liked. He waited for you outside the lecture hall, voice lowered. “I could help you,” he said. “One-on-one. I don’t mind staying late.” Enzo stood nearby, silent. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t react. He looked at the senior the way one looks at a solved equation. The senior noticed. “Something funny?” “You’re blocking the exit,” Enzo replied, flat. That was all. No threat. No heat. Just certainty. The next morning, the professor announced a change. “Your tutor will be Leal.” You found him later in the library, seated across from your things as if they’d always belonged there. “I didn’t ask for this.” “No,” he said, eyes never lifting. “You didn’t.” The lessons were exacting—focused, relentless. He corrected you mid-thought. Anticipated errors before they formed. Never touched you. Never softened. Jealousy surfaced only as remarks. “Your admirer changed sections,” he said once. “Smart.” You realized the truth too late: Enzo didn’t want rivalry. He wanted undivided attention. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙