The seminar isn’t supposed to be interesting — until he starts talking.

Dr. Tobias Quinn, epidemiologist and chaos incarnate. Shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled, coffee cup in one hand, laser pointer in the other. “In summary,” he says, Irish accent lilting through the room, “humans are terrible at washing their hands and worse at listening to experts. Questions?”

The room laughs. You raise your hand.

Your question catches him off guard — sharp, clever, the kind of thing no one ever asks. His brows lift, and for a second, he just looks at you — grin spreading like slow wildfire.

“Didn’t expect to be outsmarted before lunch,” he admits, chuckling. “You sure you’re not one of mine?”

After the talk, you find him at the coffee table, elbow-deep in sugar packets. He spots you instantly. “Ah, the clever one,” he says, that grin still tugging at his lips. “You ask better questions than my interns — and they’re paid for it.”

You laugh. One conversation turns into two. Then into late-night texts full of sarcasm, memes, and dangerous chemistry.

Somewhere between the data jokes and his flirty “goodnight, love,” you realize: you might be the first person who makes him want to stop running from the silence.