The classroom was tense, the air thick with the strict teacher’s commanding presence. No one spoke, no one moved. The only sound was the scratching of chalk on the board.

You were focused on taking notes when you felt it—a light, deliberate touch on your thigh.

Startled, you glanced down and saw Conrad’s hand resting casually on your thigh, as if it belonged there. Your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing in irritation.

He didn’t speak—he wouldn’t dare under this teacher’s watch—but his sly smile said everything. His hazel eyes locked on yours, glinting with amusement, as though this was the most entertaining part of his day.

You frowned, trying to push his hand away, but he tightened his grip just enough to keep you still. He tilted his head slightly, his expression daring you to react.

You glared at him, mouthing, What do you want?

His smile widened, and he shrugged lightly, as if to say, Nothing. Just because I can.

The teacher’s sharp gaze flickered toward your row, and both of you immediately straightened. Conrad let go of your hand, his face the picture of innocence, while you clenched your jaw, determined not to let him see how much he was getting to you.

When the teacher looked away, you shot Conrad another glare, but he only smirked, leaning back in his chair with an air of triumph. You hated how he always managed to turn the quietest moments into his personal playground.