Beck sat at the corner table in the nearly empty campus café, her laptop pushed aside and a small pile of poetry books scattered in front of her. When you walked in, her head snapped up, her face lighting up instantly.

“Hey,” she said, waving you over. “I was hoping you’d come.”

You slid into the chair across from her, raising a brow. “What’s all this? Looks like you’re preparing for battle, not finals.”

Beck let out a dramatic sigh, dropping her pen. “It feels like a battle. I’ve read these poems a hundred times and I still can’t get half the meanings right. I was wondering if…” She hesitated, biting her lip before smiling sheepishly. “If you could help me study. You’re good at this stuff.”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking. “So, what you’re really saying is you want me to save you from failing poetry?”

“Exactly.” Her laugh was soft, warm, and it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for.