Buzz.
Beatrice:Don’t keep me waiting, baby. ??
The word drips off the screen like oil.Baby.Like I’m some dangerous thing she thinks she bought with a ring and a last name.
My jaw locks.
I don’t open either message. I don’t answer. My thumb hovers for a second, then hits delete on one. Then the other.
I wish deleting the obligation was as easy as deleting the notification. I wish I could swipe left on the merger, on the wedding, on the whole suffocating future they planned without asking me.
It’s small and it won’t hold, but the spark of choosing something for myself instead of for them lands sharp and real under my ribs.
Small. Petty. Fleeting.
But it’s something I chose.
The cab is very quiet after that.
I grab my bag and get out. The night air is sharp in my lungs. The lights over the back entrance to the academic center buzz faintly. Through the glass, I can see a few guys already inside, slumped over tables, laptops open.
Adrian is waiting just outside the doors, scrolling his phone. He looks up when he hears my footsteps.
“Thought you bailed,” he says.
“Mandatory,” I answer, keeping my face blank. “I like having a jersey.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well, Coach will have my ass if anyone skips. He’s still in penance mode. Everyone sits, everyone studies, nobody fails.”
“Because of culture,” I say, the word tasting like chalk.
“Because of a lot of things,” Adrian says quietly. He studies me for a second, like he’s checking for cracks. “You alright?”
Always.
The word hovers on my tongue, automatic. Ready.
“Fine,” I say instead.
His mouth twitches. “That your version of ‘I’m good’ or the real one?”
Before I have to answer, Clara’s voice floats across the lot. “You two better not be talking shit about me before I get there.”
We both look up.
Clara and Talia are crossing from the main path toward the doors. Clara’s juggling a stack of books, her ponytail bouncing. Talia walks beside her, hood down now, hair mussed from the wind, fingers hooked in her backpack strap.
Clara’s face lights when she sees Adrian. It’s bright and open and so obnoxiously soft I can feel Dante’s future teasing from here. She speeds up the last few steps, bumping her shoulder against his.
“Hey, Hale.” She tilts her head up, grin sharp and fond. “Ready to be humbled by basic algebra?”
“Never,” he says, but his voice warms in a way it doesn’t for anyone else.
Talia hangs back half a pace, eyes on the door.
Then on me.
Everything in the space between us tightens.
