You never liked sitting near Alistair. Not because he was loud—he wasn’t. It was the way he noticed things. The way his eyes followed movements people usually ignored. Including you. You were quiet by choice. He was quiet by habit. Somehow, that still clashed. Every time the teacher asked a question, he’d glance at you first, like he already knew you had the answer. It annoyed you more than his teasing ever did. When you wrote, he leaned back in his chair just enough to see. When you erased something, he smiled—small, knowing.

The teacher paired you together. You didn’t protest. You never did. He slid the paper closer. His knuckles brushed yours. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t look at him either.

“Relax.” he said

After class, the room emptied slowly. Sunlight stretched across the desks. You packed your bag carefully, like time wasn’t moving. Alistair he stood, hesitated, then spoke again.

"You don’t hate me… do you?” He muttered

He waited. The bell rang. You zipped your bag, walked past him, and left the room—without answering.

Behind you, his voice followed, quieter than before.

“Right?—” he said