Kieran leans in to look. He doesn’t make a joke or try to charm his way through it. He studies the work for a long moment, and something in my chest misfires.
The clock ticks its bright yellow beat. Classends.
Chairs screech back. Backpacks zip. The room explodes.
Feldman raises his hand. “Before you go, keep the groups you worked in today. Semester project partners. Office hours are posted.”
Wait. What now?
“Partners?” Kieran says quietly, glancing toward Theo.
I’m already packing. Pencil away. Notebook closed. My hand is steady. My breathing isn’t.
Before I can answer, a girl from the back row slides into the aisle ahead of him, smiling too brightly. “Hey. Can I grab your number for notes?”
Kieran’s jaw tightens a fraction. His gaze flicks to me, then back to her—caught, recalibrating. The moment stretches, awkward and public, before his polite reflex kicks in.
I shoulder my bag and step into the flow of bodies, leaving him without hearing an answer.
Theo is already halfway down the hall, tugging the zipper of his jacket up as he laughs at something the girl from his lab section says. The fabric pulls tight across his arm, the clean line of muscle unmistakable even through layers.
His hair falls into his eyes. He pushes it back without thinking and keeps walking.
Two girls by the water fountain go silent as he passes. One straightens her posture. The other gives a hopeful little nudge.
Aubrey falls into step with me, heading out from her World Literature class. “How does a guy that smart have time to look like that? Does he sleep?”
I try not to sound wistful. “He’s on the swim team.”
Aubrey blinks. “Oh. Yeah. That explains…all of that.” She exhales, low. “God, he really does have that whole hot-genius thing going, doesn’t he?”
My ears warm. “Yep. He does.”
My phone buzzes, forcing me to look away.
UNKNOWN:
Partners should probably exchange contact info
Stats tutoring flyer on the bulletin board had your number
Hope that’s not weird —K
I stare at the screen. At that casual K, like we’re already familiar. Like sitting next to me once earned him the right.
“He got your number,” Aubrey breathes, reading over my shoulder. “That’s?—”
“From my tutoring flyer,” I say quickly. “It’s public information.”
“He found your number. On purpose.” She’s delighted. “Giiirl.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.”
I shove my phone in my pocket, but the message sits there, blue and steady and impossible to ignore.
Just like him.
