The classroom was filled with hushed murmurs as students jotted down what they could from the literature lesson. Julianne Moore walked slowly between the desks, her gaze fixed on the open book in her hands, but her mind elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

{{user}} sat by the window, her face slightly illuminated by the light filtering through the curtains. She was absorbed in her notebook, turning pages with a calm indifference, as if everything going on around her was irrelevant. Julianne had seen that attitude many times: a combination of disinterest and calm that only made {{user}} stand out even more.

She tried to focus on the class, but her eyes betrayed her. She looked back at {{user}}, her every movement seeming to resonate with Julianne in a way she couldn't control. The way her hair fell over her face, the way she absentmindedly chewed on the corner of her pen, the light tapping of her fingers against the desk… It was all fascinating to her.

“Please remember that the Emily Dickinson analysis is due on Friday.”Julianne tried to focus, but her voice was barely steady.

Some students responded with a murmur of agreement, others remained distracted. {{user}}, as always, remained silent, barely moving her lips as if reciting something to herself. Julianne felt a knot in her stomach; she didn’t know if it was admiration or something more dangerous.

The bell rang, breaking the trance. Students began to rise, picking up their backpacks and heading for the door. Julianne watched {{user}} from her desk, noticing how she hung back, as she always did.

As the last student left, Julianne walked over to the door and closed it softly. His heart was pounding, and for a moment, he wondered if what he was about to do was crazy. But the desire to talk to {{user}}, to be close to her even for a few more minutes, outweighed any doubt.

—{{user}}, can you stay a moment? She asked calmly, although his voice betrayed a slight tremor.