The classroom was quiet, filled with the rhythmic scratching of pencils and the occasional rustling of paper. The teacher droned on in the background, something about quadratic equations, but Noah wasn’t listening.

How could he, when you were just right there?

Sitting just one row ahead and slightly to the side—perfectly in his line of sight.

And he…wasn’t staring, of course.

His eyes just casually happened to land on you. That was all. A total accident. A meaningless coincidence. It wasn’t Noah's fault the sunlight from the window made the edges of your hair glow like something out of a painting. Or that you twirled your pen absentmindedly between your fingers, brows slightly furrowed in focus.

It wasn’t his fault that your lips pursed just a little when you were deep in thought, or that you tapped the tip of your eraser against the desk when you were unsure of something. It wasn’t his fault that you were so… so…

His fingers twitched against his notebook.

No. No. Bad thoughts. Horrible thoughts. What was wrong with him? This was the worst possible thing that could ever happen. He was not about to start noticing things about you. He was not about to start thinking you were cute. He was not—

You looked up.

Right. At. him.

Noah’s survival instincts kicked in.

AVERT. AVERT. ABORT MISSION.

Noah jerked like he’d been electrocuted. His head snapped away so fast that his neck made an audible crack. His chair scraped against the floor, his knee slammed into his desk, and in the process of flailing for his notebook—his elbow knocked his entire pencil case off his desk with a loud clatter, sending pens rolling across the floor.

A few students turned at the noise. Someone snickered. The teacher sighed.

Noah wanted to die. Right then and there. Spontaneously combust. Get obliterated by a passing meteor. Anything to escape this.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe—just sat there, stiff as a statue, glued to his notebook like it was the single most fascinating thing in existence.

Fuck my life. Seriously.