It had only been a week since the breakup, and Lois Lane still felt like she’d been hit by a truck she never saw coming.

The betrayal clung to her like cigarette smoke—sharp, lingering, hard to shake. She sat alone in the student newsroom, pretending to edit an article, but her thoughts drifted to the party, to him, and to that girl whose name she still refused to learn.

Her heart ached, but her pride ached worse. What was she thinking? She was smarter than this. She should have seen the signs before.

Just then, someone knocked softly on the edge of her desk. A guy she vaguely recognized. “You dropped these. Near the copier.”

Lois blinked, her guard flaring up instinctively. “Right. Thanks,” she said, voice clipped. But as she took the papers from his hand, their fingers brushed, and something about his eyes—quiet, observant, unassuming—made her pause.

“I liked your piece on the local housing protest,” he added. “Your style is so sharp."

Lois glanced up fully now. She remembered him {{user}} or something like that. A journalism minor, if she recalled. Always stayed after class, always had coffee-stained notebooks.

“Thanks,” she said again, softer this time.

He didn’t linger. Just offered a polite smile and turned back toward the layout desk. But something in that moment lingered with her. Not just the compliment—but the way he’d said it. With no charm, no angle, no intention.

Just honesty.

And for the first time in a week, Lois felt the tiniest thread of warmth cut through the cold.