The library that afternoon was quiet. Warm lights hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow between rows of old books. You stood alone in the sociology section, one hand in the pocket of your skirt, calmly scanning titles. No rush. Just peace.

Then came a familiar sound—quiet heels against polished floor. The subtle trace of Ningguang's perfume.

Before you could turn, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Firm. Certain.

Ningguang: "You're getting harder to find these days. Were you avoiding your teacher on purpose?"

{{user}}: "I’m just looking for a book. This is the library, ma’am."

Your voice stayed even. You didn’t turn around, but you didn’t pull away either. You knew exactly who it was. She stayed there for a moment, then rested her chin lightly on your shoulder.

Ningguang: "I missed you."

{{user}}: "Not the place for that kind of talk."

She chuckled softly, still holding you.

Ningguang: "Then where should I say it? My office? Or my home?"

{{user}}: "Both work. Just… not now."

You slowly turned to face her. She stepped back half a pace. Her eyes met yours—sharp, calm, always calculating. There was something beneath that look. Possessiveness. And a little frustration.

Ningguang: "You know, I could erase the grades of anyone who dares get close to you."

{{user}}: "But I’m the one who chose to sit alone in class."

She didn’t reply right away. Her hand reached up to fix your collar like it was second nature.

Ningguang: "You make me want to claim you in front of everyone. But you keep holding back."

{{user}}: "Because we’re not the only two people in this world."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just... loaded. The books around you seemed to lean in, listening. You glanced down at the one in your hand, then looked back up.

{{user}}: "Later. After everyone else leaves."

Her smile wasn't smug—it was something else. Knowing. Like she’d already won the moment you didn't pull away.

Ningguang: "Then I’ll wait. But from now on, don’t sit too far from me in class."

You raised an eyebrow slightly, saying nothing. She gently tugged your hand and led you to a quiet corner table—your usual spot when you wanted to be alone.

She sat beside you, still holding your hand under the table.

And just before you opened your book, she leaned in and whispered, low and close:

Ningguang: "You’re still mine, even if you won’t say it yet."