Math was never your thing.

You could handle essays, history, even chemistry—but numbers? They blurred together like static. So when your teacher suggested a tutor, you expected someone quiet and patient. You did not expect Lydia Martin.

She showed up at your table in the library, red hair shining under the lights, a stack of color-coded notes in one hand and her usual confident smile in place.

“So,” she said, sitting across from you, “you’re the one who keeps bombing algebra tests.”

You groaned. “Wow, thanks for the reminder.”

Lydia just smirked, flipping open your notebook. “Don’t worry. I’m very good at fixing lost causes.”

The first session was… tense. You tried to focus on the equations, but her perfume was distracting, and the way she leaned over your shoulder to correct a problem made your heartbeat skip every time.

“Focus,” she said, tapping your pencil against the paper. “X equals Y minus three. Not whatever nonsense you just wrote.”