The projector refused to connect, and the room buzzed with the quiet irritation of seniors who were too close to graduation to care about technical difficulties.

You slumped back in your chair, staring at the “No Signal” message glowing accusingly on the screen. Final Programming. Last semester. Last chance to blend into the background and leave college without any major emotional incidents.

Then someone laughed.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut cleanly through the room—warm, easy, the kind of laugh that made people turn their heads without realizing why. You looked up just in time to see him leaning against the front desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, already surrounded by a small crowd despite class not having officially started.

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” he asked the professor, grin unapologetic.

A few people laughed. The tension broke. The projector flickered to life like it had been waiting for his approval.

Great.

You watched as he slid into a seat two rows ahead of you, immediately greeted by three different people who all seemed equally happy to see him. Someone stole his pen. Someone else rested their elbow on his desk like they’d always belonged there. He didn’t seem to mind. He never seemed to mind.

You pulled your laptop closer, pretending to be deeply invested in a blank document while sneaking glances at the back of his head. When he turned to say something to the person behind him, you caught it—the dimples, unmistakable and unfair.

Your chest did that stupid thing it had no business doing this late in the semester.

Graduation was in three months. You had a résumé, a tentative job lead, and absolutely no experience with boys like him—the kind who lit up rooms and collected people without trying.

You looked back down at your screen, heart pounding, already knowing this class was going to be a problem.