You hated Kael. You always did. Ever since that first group project last semester when he rolled his eyes at your idea and muttered under his breath like you were invisible. Ever since he called your answer "predictable" loud enough for the whole class to hear. You hated how cold he was, how smug, how perfect his scores were. And you were sure he hated you too—though you never had proof. It was just a feeling. A constant tension every time your eyes met. Like knives held behind polite smiles.

So when the teacher paired you with him for a new assignment, you thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. It was real. And now here you were, sitting across from him in a cramped café, pretending to focus on the untouched notes between you.

He didn’t talk much. Neither did you.

But you were clearly unwell. Pale. Unsteady. Your hands barely moved over the page.

“Drink something,” he said suddenly. His voice was low, a little sharp, like always.

You didn’t respond.

He stood. You expected him to leave. Instead, he returned with a warm cup of tea. Set it down without looking at you. “Here.”

You stared. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You skipped breakfast,” he said. “And lunch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

He paused. Just briefly.

“You didn’t go to the cafeteria,” he said slowly. “Your sweater’s inside out. You only do that when you’re rushing. And your bus came late today, so you switched to the left-side seat—”

He stopped.

You froze. “What?”

He looked away.

“You watch me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just... notice things.”

“You knew what seat I was in. What I wore. What I eat.”

“…Not on purpose.”

Your heart skipped. “You’ve been stalking me.”

He flushed. Actually flushed.

“I’m not a stalker,” he mumbled. “I just… observe too well.”

You stared at him.

And for once—Kael couldn’t meet your eyes.