It was a Wednesday, just past noon, and the skies over Wexley University were the color of damp cement. Rain tapped lazily against the tall glass windows of the west lecture hall, dripping from the ledges in soft, melancholic rhythms. The kind of grey, sleepy afternoon that made even the professors rush through slides just to escape into a coffee break.

But not Soren Chen.

He sat at the back, unmoving. A marble statue in human form—black jumper immaculate, jaw sharp, posture impossibly straight. Everyone had already cleared out. All except you.

You were still at your desk beside him in the last row, glaring at a crumpled math worksheet like it had personally wronged your ancestors. Pencil clenched. Head tilted. Mouth muttering something that sounded vaguely like threats.

Soren had noticed you before. Once. Maybe twice. The girl with the loud socks and quiet eyes. You weren’t loud, or shiny, or particularly popular. But you had a look—somewhere between daydreaming and done-with-life—and apparently, an absolutely tragic relationship with numbers.

He tilted his head. Squinted.

Multiple choice: A. 12 B. 20 C. 50 D. 35

The answer was obviously A. But there you were, circling “105” next to C like it made perfect sense. He nearly choked on the audacity of it.

You groaned again, louder this time, flipping to question five with the kind of frustrated sigh that shook the plastic desk.

“Number five is worse. Who even made this question? A demon?!” He heard you mumbling under your breath. You reminded him of a grumpy cat.

Soren blinked. Watched.

And for reasons that defied every cold, careful rule he'd ever written in his head, he stood.

Silently, he walked to your desk. His shadow fell over your paper as he leaned in—deliberate, unbothered, dangerously close.

“Let me help you with that,” he murmured, voice low and perfectly calm. “It’s A.”

You froze. He felt the tension spike in the air between you, thick and electric.

Then he pointed at the next question. “That one’s D. Thirty-two. You just multiply the base and... transpose this part.”

Still silence from you. Just wide eyes and that flustered, deer-in-headlights expression.

Soren tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

"…Why are you looking at me like that?"