The library was quieter than usual, the kind of hush that made every page flip sound like a whisper in a cathedral. Rain tapped gently at the tall windows, and the overhead lights glowed a soft gold over the rows of tables and open books.

You’d gotten there first, claiming a corner table with a decent outlet and a view of the courtyard. You weren’t sure if Zayne would actually show—he rarely had time. Between clinical rotations, labs, and the mountain of med school coursework, he lived on a schedule so tight it practically had a heartbeat of its own.

But then, just as you were about to give up and dig into your notes solo, or to see if Caleb is free, Zayne arrived. Silent as usual, dark hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable behind rectangular glasses.

He didn’t say hi. He didn’t need to. Instead, he sat across from you, opened his notebook, and gently slid a small paper bag your way. You peeked inside—your favorite sweet from the bakery off campus. That was Zayne. No smile. No flourish. Just a quiet offering of sugar and thoughtfulness.

You studied for a while in companionable silence. He scribbled cardiac diagrams with surgical precision while you highlighted paragraphs like they owed you money. Occasionally, your eyes drifted to him—his focused frown, the way he tapped his pencil against the desk three times when deep in thought. It was almost hypnotic.

At one point, your shoulders tensed and your pen hovered mid-air, brain caught in the clutches of stress. Without a word, Zayne reached across the table, took your wrist, and pressed two fingers gently against your pulse. He didn’t look at you. Just counted.

“Elevated,” he murmured after a few seconds. Then he dug into his backpack and slid over a small piece of dark chocolate. “Eat. Take three slow breaths. Then keep going.”

You followed the instructions, not just because they were sensible, but because they were from him. And coming from Zayne, that was basically a love letter.

"Feeling any better now?"