My head snaps up. “Different how?”
“Quiet,” Clara says. “More than usual. He’s running drills until the ice melts. He doesn’t talk in the locker room. Adrian says he looks like he’s trying to exorcise something.”
My chest tightens.
“He’s respecting the boundary,” Genny says, voice steady. “You drew a line. He’s staying behind it.”
I stare at the crease in my textbook page. “I told him I wouldn’t be a secret.”
“Good,” Maya says. “But now you have to decide if you want him to be a stranger.”
The week drags.
Monday passes in a gray blur. Tuesday is worse.
By Wednesday, the silence feels heavy, like humidity before a storm.
I walk into Stats class late. The room hums with low chatter. The back row—our back row, where we sat last week—is open.
I force my steps sideways, sliding into a spot near the middle.
He walks in thirty seconds later.
I don’t look. I don’t have to. His presence drags across my nerves like a magnet.
He’s wearing a dark hoodie, hood down. Jaw tight. Eyes shadowed.
For a second, I’m sure he’s going to head straight for the back like usual. Pretend I don’t exist. Pretend last week didn’t happen.
His footsteps come closer instead.
My hand goes a little numb around my pen.
Something drops onto my desk with a soft, muted thud. The faint, sharp scent hits me a half second before my eyes catch up.
Peppermint tea.
A to-go cup from the campus café.
My breath hitches. I finally look up.
He’s standing there, one hand shoved in his hoodie pocket, the other just releasing the cup. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t even fully turn his body toward mine.
His eyes meet mine for half a second. Long enough for me to see the exhaustion there. The restraint.
“You looked like you could use it,” he mutters. Voice rough. No preamble.
I stare at the cup. Then at him.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” I say. It comes out sharper than I intend.
“Didn’t say it did.” His throat works. “Just… thought you might want it.”
He moves away before I can respond, heading up two rows and sliding into a seat at the end.
He doesn’t try to talk to me after class. He doesn’t walk me out. He just leaves the tea, a silent offering in the middle of the cold war, and disappears.
I drink it.
