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I knew I was asking for too much, that I had gone too far, when he paused and stared at me.

Nevertheless, I held his gaze resolutely, because there was no turning back.

Alarik seemed like he had earlier in the seminar room. A little off track, as if all the gears in his head were turning.

I took the steps down into the unusual courtyard and walked toward him.

“I'm fascinated by your idea. Exchanging books as a means of communication. To practice the art of language without the distractions of the new world. Two people, one book.” The mere idea brought a smile to my face. “A concept I would enjoy writing my term paper on, but I need someone who takes the process seriously. Besides, I need an academic supervisor for it anyway.”

I stopped five feet in front of him, unsettled by his fixed gaze.

Had I thrown him off balance that much?

Embarrassed, I looked down at the ground, shoving both hands into the pockets of my brown plaid coat.

“But I would understand if...”

“With pleasure.”

Surprised, I looked up, searching for uncertainty, for hesitation in the eyes that reminded me of those Julian had. But if you looked closely, the green of Alarik’s eyes was cooler, clearer, and instead of Julian's yellow speckles, blue fibers ran through Alarik's irises, forming a wafer-thin dark-blue outer rim.

“Are you sure?”

He laughed softly, ran his fingers through his hair, and walked past me.

“I'm just a little overwhelmed that someone sees more in these books than the rest of his fellow students.”

I turned my head toward him, and he stopped beside me, studying every inch of my expression.

“What do you want to communicate with me about? I wouldn't want to bore you with book analyses.”

I raised an eyebrow to let him know that wouldn't happen.

“I know what you read, and you should already know from my essays which books I like.”

“How could I forget?” he said with a challenging grin before continuing on, forcing me to turn completely around so as not to lose sight of him.

“But no,” I continued. “I had something else in mind. Your poems deserve to be read, Alarik. “

He shouldn't waste his potential just because he preferred to mentor students. I had read in his words that he enjoyed writing. Somewhere deep inside him, a writer seemed to be hiding. Ink flowed through his veins. A curse that corrupted my veins as well.

The itching in my wrists came on so suddenly that every hair on my body stood on end.

Of course, always at random.

Alarik ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it so much that he looked more scattered than ever. Then he looked at me with raised eyebrows and that smile that was part overwhelmed, part indecipherable.

“What?” I laughed. “I mean, you don't have to... I'll take the literary analyses.”

“No,” he quickly interrupted me. “For God's sake. No. I'll do it. On one condition.”

I was prepared for anything. From academic performance to more Senseque training sessions in which I would have to search for sources of my anger.

“You'll try your hand at it too. At poetry.”

Wait, what?

“But...”