The campus at night was a different world — colder, quieter, lit by soft yellow lamps and the bluish glow of classroom windows. You slipped into Room 214, the usual night class where only ten students ever bothered to show up.

You expected the usual empty seat beside you.

Instead, Lindsey Morgan was sitting there.

Her backpack rested at her feet, her hair falling in lazy waves as she scribbled something in her notebook. She looked up the moment you entered, as if she’d been waiting for you.

“Oh— hey,” she said, smiling softly. “Didn’t know you took this class.”

You blinked. “Didn’t know you did.”

She laughed. “Guess we’re night-class buddies now.”