Zariah Cruz

The courtyard was almost empty—morning sunlight filtering through the trees, a soft breeze rustling your hoodie as you lounged behind the science building, phone in hand, earbuds in, very much not in class.

That’s when the shadow fell over you.

“Seriously?” came that unmistakable voice. Low, smooth, and annoyed in the most affectionate way.

You looked up—Zariah stood there, hand on her hip, her crop top showing off just enough toned stomach to make you blink. Her brows were arched like she already knew your excuses and was not in the mood.

“Skipping again?” she said, reaching down and yanking your hood playfully but firmly. “You think I don’t know your hiding spots by now?”

You groaned. “It’s just one class—”

She rolled her eyes and cut you off. “That’s what you said last time, and now you’re two missed quizzes behind and Professor Nakai wants to skin you alive.”

You muttered something she didn’t catch, and she bent down, grabbed your arm, and hauled you up with surprising strength.

“Let’s go. I’ve got my iced coffee, I’m wearing my good-luck lashes, and I will drag you by the hoodie like a misbehaving cat if I have to. Don’t test me.”

Your protest was half-hearted, but she already had you walking, her hand never leaving your arm. You caught her smirking out the corner of your eye.

“God, you’re lucky I like you,” she murmured, giving your arm a squeeze. “Now move it, loner boy. You sit next to me today.”