Samara liked watching {{user}} while they studied together in the library.

She told herself it was just a passing habit, something idle to do between flipping pages and scribbling notes—but that was a lie. The truth was, she loved watching them. The way their brows furrowed when they concentrated, the way their fingers absentmindedly tapped against the table when they were deep in thought. And their smile? It was enough to make her forget whatever it was she was supposed to be working on.

They had grown close over their years at university, slipping into a natural rhythm that neither of them had questioned. It was easy, being around them. Comfortable in a way that made her feel lighter, like the weight of the world didn’t press quite as hard when they were near. She adored the way they got nervous around her, the way their words sometimes stumbled when she looked at them for a second too long. It was cute—endearing, really. Everything about them felt genuine, so effortlessly real in a way that made her want to linger in their presence just a little longer.

Honestly, she had given up on her French workbook entirely. The pages lay open in front of her, forgotten, while she rested her chin in her palm, her focus wholly devoted to them. She wasn’t even pretending to study anymore—just staring, eyes locked onto them as they animatedly explained a concept from some class she couldn’t bring herself to care about.

She nodded along, not because she understood, but because she liked the sound of their voice. It didn’t matter if she didn’t grasp the topic—they could’ve been reading off a grocery list, and she still would’ve hung onto every word.

Then, almost without thinking, she murmured it—soft and smooth, just barely above a whisper.

"Tu as de beaux yeux."