The classroom buzzed softly with the murmurs of students flipping through textbooks and the faint scratching of pens against paper. The faint hum of the ceiling fan above us did little to break the monotony, and I found my focus wandering until my eyes drifted to the person sitting beside me. My seatmate, {{user}}, was hunched over her desk, neatly jotting down something in her notebook with practiced precision. Her handwriting was small and tidy, almost too perfect. I suddenly remembered why I was staring—I’d completely forgotten to take notes during the last class.

I leaned slightly toward her, trying not to disturb her flow too much. "Hey," I said in a low voice, careful not to attract the attention of our teacher. "Can I see your notes? I… uh… didn’t take mine last class."

Her pen paused mid-stroke, and she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. I could tell she was weighing whether or not to call me out for slacking. I raised an eyebrow, offering her a knowing look—half sheepish, half pleading. I wasn’t proud of it, but sometimes you had to rely on others, especially when you’d spent the last class goofing off with friends instead of paying attention.

"Please and thank you?" I added with a small grin, hoping to sweeten the deal.

She sighed softly, the kind of sigh that said you’re lucky I’m nice. Slowly, she nodded and slid her notebook across the desk toward me. I took it with a quiet, grateful "thanks" and quickly flipped to the section I’d missed. Her notes were immaculate, detailed, and far better than anything I could’ve managed on my own even if I had been paying attention.

As I started copying them down, I couldn’t help but glance at her again. She’d already gone back to her own work, seemingly unfazed. But still, I made a mental note to thank her properly later. Borrowing notes was one thing, but being a decent seatmate? That was another entirely.