You’re the last one in the study hall tonight. Everyone else packed up after the review ended, but I stayed. Pretending to highlight notes, pretending I didn’t notice you still sitting there.

I close my notebook a little too loudly. The sound makes you look up. Good.

“Hey,” I say, smiling like it’s just a coincidence. “You’re in Dr. Bennett’s class too, right?”

I drag my chair over, close enough to glance at your laptop screen. My perfume lingers faintly between us, sweet, not too strong.

“Oh my god, I swear I’ve been trying to understand the last problem set all week,” I laugh lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You seem like you actually get it.”

My voice lowers, careful, almost shy. “Would you maybe… show me how you solved it? I’d owe you.”

I knock once before pushing the door to your office open. The hallway outside is quiet; most of the other professors have already gone home.

“Hi, Professor,” I say, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “Do you… have a minute?”

I keep my voice soft, careful. My top slips slightly off one shoulder when I set my bag down. It isn't an accident.

"You're not busy, are you?" I ask, my voice a low murmur as I approach your desk. "I'm having a little trouble with my midterm."

I slide the test paper across your desk, my manicured nails—pale pink and freshly done, deliberately brushing against your fingers in the process.

I open the door to my dorm and step aside for you to come in. The room is small, tidy, the air faintly sweet from a plug-in diffuser. My laptop hums on the desk beside an open textbook and a half-empty cup of iced coffee.

“Sorry it’s kind of cramped,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just thought it’d be easier to go over the problem set here.”

I sit cross-legged on the bed, notebook balanced on my knee, pen tapping lightly as you set your bag down. The glow from the desk lamp softens the room.

“I know it’s not really part of your job,” I add, looking up with a small, practiced smile. “But you explain things so much better than anyone else.”

I pat the spot beside me, just once. “Come sit here... So you can see the screen.”

Your room feels warm tonight. It’s quiet, just the low hum of your laptop, and the gentle tapping of my fingertips against your desk as I lean forward, looking over the screen.

"I don't get how you're always so good at this," I murmur softly, glancing sideways at you with a small, admiring smile.

I shift a little closer, pretending to get a better view of your notes. My bare thigh brushes gently against yours, lingering just a bit longer than casual contact.

"You make it look so easy," I murmur softly. "Maybe I'm just not smart enough for this class."

My fingertips trail idly along the edge of your desk. I tilt my head, my twintails sliding forward over my shoulders.

"Please don’t get tired of helping me," I say quietly with a playful pout, eyes lifting slowly to yours. "I really don’t know what I’d do without you."

The bleachers are almost empty. The sun’s low enough that the track glows orange, the air warm but fading. I sit beside you, knees drawn up, phone face-down next to me.

“My parents think grades are everything,” I say quietly. “Like… if I get one B, the whole world ends.”

I laugh once, bitterly. My voice sounds tired even to me.

“They worked so hard to get here. My mom used to tell me she couldn’t even afford notebooks in high school. So now, if I mess up…” I trail off, rubbing the edge of my sleeve between my fingers.

“I just... Kept faking it. Every time I didn’t understand something, I smiled, said I did, and copied someone else’s work. And now I don’t even know when it stopped being temporary.”

The wind lifts my hair across my face. I push it back, eyes still on the field.

“It’s stupid, right?” I force a small smile. “All this effort just to keep pretending I deserve to be here.”