“Chezir!”
The shout was unmistakable—high-pitched, bright, and entirely too happy for nine in the morning.
I turned around to find my five-foot-nothing friend skipping towards me like a puppy that had too much sugar.
Narline.
We’d been friends since childhood, or rather, she’d forced us to be. She’d been the first person to persistently hang around me even after I’d tried my absolute best to scare her off.
I’d done everything including chopping off a mouse’s head and dropping it in her bag, roasting a living lizard and pretended I’d eat it, once even convinced her I was cursed and she’d die if she touched me. Didn’t work. The little girl didn’t mind hanging around me.
Every morning, she’d still knock on my door with that ridiculous grin, asking if she could come in and play.
My parents adored her. They said she was “good for me” despite my protest. I wasn’t sure if I should thank her or blame her for the fact that I eventually softened up after five long, exasperating years of her pursuit.
Now, she was the only person I actually cared about and would literally off anyone if they came close to touching her in the wrong way. Not that I’d ever breathe that kind of thing to her.
“Chezir!” she squealed again when she reached me, flinging her arms around my neck in a hug that made my jaw clench on reflex.
“I thought I warned you on the phone last night not to do this when you see me in public,” I muttered into her hair.
Narline just hugged me tighter. “I’m happy to see you too! Youhaveto tell me all the functions that happened during break. It sucks that we live six hours apart now.”
I rolled my eyes, prying her off me. “Class first, reunion later. We’ve got the whole semester to overtalk our boring lives.” We even stayed in the same dorm. Since first year.
I started walking again, the stone archway ahead of us looming like something out of a Gothic painting. The building beyond had ancient dark spires, arched windows, heavy doors that were rumoured to creak open on their own at midnight. The history of Verlnic Ju’s architecture was one of the things that lived up to its hype for me.
“Oh! Did you hear about our new history professor?” Narline chirped beside me.
I arched a brow.
“The third-year one,” she clarified, exasperated. “You know, the tall, gorgeous man that I told you about during our first year? He only teaches third years, and no one ever sees him unless he’s lecturing. It’s like he teleports in and disappears after.”
I frowned, glancing at my watch. “That is who we have now? He’s the one taking history?”
She nodded so eagerly I thought her head would come off. “Yup! That’s our class starting in, like, three minutes.”
Narline grabbed my hand, dragging me through the crowd like our lives depended on getting front-row seats to whatever miracle washappening inside. “Let’s go before they all occupy all the good seats!”
We reached the entrance, squeezing between rushing students elbowing and bumping into one another. I couldn’t even be surprised at the chaos. It would’ve baffled me how we had this many students for one course if this wasn’t Verlnic Ju.
Verlnic Ju.
Verlnic Ju, the university of every parent’s wet dream. The place where mothers planned baby showers and tuition deposits at the same time. The kind of place people sold kidneys to get their kids into.
As much as Verlnic Ju ran on grades, it also ran on money and last names. It didn’t matter how bright your mind was if your surname didn’t open doors. I could’ve flunked half my life away, and I’d still end up here. Merit mixed with privilege—classic cocktail of hypocrisy.
My great-grandparents had gone here. My grandparents. My parents. Me being here was family tradition. I’d had my seat reserved since my mom got pregnant with me. So naturally, I didn’t have a choice.
“Fuck my life.” Narline’s quiet gasp beside me snapped me out of my mental eye-roll as we stopped at the top of the hall, people brushing past us, racing down the stairs for better seats.
I followed her line of sight.
Down the hall, by a desk, half-leaning against the table with a book in his hand, was a man.
He looked up at the exact moment our eyes found him.
He dropped the book slowly, his other hand running through his slightly unkempt hair as though he’d wanted to take an unobstructed look at us. His dark green shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing strong forearms, two beaded bracelets of different colours on one wrist and a watch on the other.
