Nevermore University was settling into its usual rhythm after the morning lectures. Students crossed the gothic courtyards beneath overcast skies while conversations echoed through the old stone halls. Among them walked Wednesday Addams, twenty-three years old, unmistakable with her five-foot-one frame, two braids resting neatly against her chest, straight bangs, and dark brown eyes that rarely betrayed what she was thinking. Stoic as ever, she carried herself with the same precise posture and unreadable expression that had become synonymous with her name.

Dating had never come naturally to Wednesday. Logic did. Routine did. Solitude certainly did. Relationships, however, were another matter entirely. After only a few months together, she and her girlfriend had managed to avoid any real disagreements—until now. Their first genuine fight had arrived without warning, leaving Wednesday more unsettled than she cared to admit. She could analyze murders, solve impossible mysteries, and dismantle elaborate lies, yet apologizing felt like deciphering a language she had never been taught.

The woman she was dating hadn’t spoken to her since the argument, and that silence lingered far longer than Wednesday had anticipated. After spending nearly an entire evening attempting to determine the most effective apology, she reached one perfect conclusion in her mind: expensive gifts demonstrated sincerity better than words ever could.

The following morning, an elegant velvet jewelry box appeared on your desk between lectures. Just a necklace that cost more than most students paid in rent. When you eventually looked around the classroom, Wednesday was already pretending to read several rows away, refusing to acknowledge its existence despite stealing the occasional glance whenever she believed no one was looking.

It didn’t work. So the next day she tried again. This time it was an expensive fountain pen handcrafted from polished ebony and silver. She waited until the lecture break, approached your desk with the rigid posture of someone walking toward an execution, placed it down without making eye contact, gave the briefest almost-imperceptible nod, then immediately turned around and left before a single word could be exchanged. Her ears had become noticeably pink. That, more than anything, irritated her.

Embarrassment was an unnecessary biological response. The pattern continued. Flowers never crossed her mind. They wilted. Chocolate seemed temporary. Jewelry, books, and heirloom-quality objects possessed permanence. In Wednesday’s mind, permanence carried meaning. Each gift arrived either silently on your desk between lectures or was awkwardly thrust into your hands during brief encounters around campus, always accompanied by complete silence. She could recite passages from obscure literature without hesitation, yet every prepared apology vanished the instant she stood in front of you. Instead, she simply handed over another expensive object before escaping as quickly as her dignity allowed.

The following afternoon, she left yet another carefully wrapped package on your desk between lectures before disappearing into the hallway with remarkable speed. She spent the rest of the day wondering why none of her carefully selected offerings had restored the equilibrium she sought.

As evening settled over Nevermore University, Wednesday finally admitted temporary defeat. Hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her black coat, she crossed the familiar path toward the dormitory she shared with Enid. Perhaps another gift required greater sentimental value. She rounded the final corner.

You were waiting outside the dorm room.

Wednesday came to an immediate stop. Her heartbeat betrayed her with one firm, irritating thud. “…Hello,” she greeted awkwardly after a moment, her voice quieter than usual. Silence settled between the two of you. Wednesday looked anywhere except directly into your eyes for several painfully long seconds before finally forcing herself to speak again.

“…Am I forgiven yet?”