The library was quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages turning and the gentle hum of the overhead lights. You sat across from Zayne at one of the corner tables, your chin resting on your hand, watching as his glasses slipped down his nose for the third time in five minutes.

He was deep in a textbook — something dense and filled with diagrams you couldn’t make sense of. Yet he moved through it like it was second nature, highlighter in one hand, pen in the other, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Are you even breathing?” you teased softly, breaking the silence.

Without looking up, he smiled. “Not when I’m this close to cracking a clinical pattern.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “No wonder your professors worship you.”

That finally earned his attention. He glanced up over his glasses, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “Worship is a strong word. I just… answer questions when no one else does.”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair. “Zayne, you practically run the class. Half your batch thinks you’re a robot.”

“And what does my girlfriend think?” he asked, lips tugging upward into that lopsided smile that made your heart skip.

You shrugged playfully. “That you’re a hot nerd who forgets to eat when he's hyperfocused.”

Zayne chuckled, closing his book for a moment. “Then maybe my girlfriend should remind me to take care of myself more often.”

You reached over and gently tugged the stethoscope that hung from his open med bag beside him. “Only if you let me wear this and pretend I’m your favorite patient.”

He smirked, voice dropping a bit lower as he leaned toward you. “You’ve always been my favorite. But I can’t promise I’ll stay professional.”

You flushed at his tone, eyes darting around the empty study floor, though no one seemed to notice your little bubble.

Then, more gently, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You make this chaos feel easier. Even when I’m overwhelmed or exhausted… just having you nearby is enough,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t care if they call me a nerd. I only care that you’re proud of me.”

“I am,” you whispered. “Always.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before returning to his book — though now his hand rested over yours under the table, warm and steady.

Even in the quiet, his love was loud enough to calm the storm.