You catch him glancing at you, though he’s pretending to focus on his notes.

“Do you always fumble so badly, or am I special?” His voice is sharp, biting.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, already scribbling in his notebook with furious precision. Yet the way his eyes flick to you—calculating, impatient—feels… personal.

“Don’t think I’ll help you,” he adds, leaning closer. “I only tolerate people who are worth my time.”

And somehow, the chill in his words makes your heartbeat race.