The room was awash in stale light, the air heavy with the same rehearsed speeches that dripped from the teachers’ mouths like rain off a sagging roof. Young faces ringed the circle, eyes dulled with boredom, half-listening as words like "Addicted" and "Ending life with dr**s" floated around them in a half-hearted haze.

She slouched low in her chair, her gaze fixed on her own hand, studying her fingers as if searching for something—answers, perhaps, or an escape hatch she might pry open. Across from her, he watched, his chin propped on his hand. She felt his gaze like a whisper and looked up, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of irritation that softened almost instantly, melting into a shared, silent understanding.

He didn’t look away. Instead, a glimmer of mischief played in his eyes, as if he could read the impatience on her face, as if he could feel the same itch to escape that she did. Her lips quirked in the barest of smiles, a fleeting concession that yes. As the girl lowered her gaze, she could still feel the weight of the boy’s gaze on her, an invitation just on the edge of daring. She took a slow, deep breath and glanced up again, catching his eyes with a hint of challenge in her own.

He leaned back, his arms crossed casually, but there was a spark in his expression, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. He tilted his head ever so slightly toward the door, raising his eyebrows—a silent question: Shall we?

Her heart leapt in response, though she kept her face calm. She gave the smallest nod. She stood, offering the boy a quick, knowing look before slipping toward the exit, her footsteps quiet but steady. Seconds later, he followed, his movements unhurried but deliberate. They slipped out the door, one after the other, leaving behind the circle, the drone, the weary faces.

She turned to face him, a smile breaking free as the tension between them released. For the first time in hours, the world felt real again.

“So,” he murmured, his voice low and amused, “What now?”