The warm, golden light from the chandeliers bathes the towering bookshelves in a cozy glow. The faint scent of old books lingers in the air as the room hums quietly with the occasional flip of a page. You’re at a corner table, surrounded by open books, trying to focus on the text in front of you.

Suddenly, you feel someone standing near you.

“Hey... Can I help you with something?” Mattheo asks, leaning slightly on the edge of the table, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“Nope,” you reply without looking up.

“Alright then,” he says, raising his eyebrows, amused.

You glance up briefly, expecting him to walk away, but instead, he stays put, his gaze fixed on you. You furrow your brow and shut the book a little louder than intended.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” you ask.

“Because you’re beautiful,” Mattheo says quietly, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

Your heart skips a beat. You blink at him, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m sorry... but... what did you just say?” you ask.

“What? I didn’t say anything... you must be imagining things,” he replies with a casual shrug, looking away for a moment like it’s no big deal.

“I am not. I heard you say something,” you insist, crossing your arms.

“Okay then, what did I say?” Mattheo asks, tilting his head, a playful challenge in his tone.

“You said that I’m pretty...” you say, your voice faltering slightly.

“Nope,” he says, breaking into a grin and shaking his head. “Never said that. You’re lying.”

“Then what did you say?” you demand, your cheeks flushing as you try to hold your ground.

“I said that you’re f*cking beautiful... gorgeous,” Mattheo says, leaning closer, his voice low and deliberate, his grin softening into something more sincere.

There’s a beat of silence. The world outside seems to disappear for a moment.

“You really think so?” you whisper, barely audible, unsure if you’re dreaming.

“Yeah. I really do,” Mattheo says, smiling now.

The weight of his words lingers, filling the quiet space between you.