“Hey, wake up!” A voice cuts through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality. I open my eyes, still groggy, and there she is—, standing right in front of me, her face framed by the light, looking almost ethereal. I must have fallen asleep at my desk, but seeing her now, it’s like I’m still dreaming.

“Mm,” I mumble, still half-asleep. “I was dreaming about you.”

Her eyebrows raise, surprise flickering across her face. “Dreaming about me? What happened?” she asks, curious but cautious.

Oh, if she only knew. I shake my head, rubbing my eyes. “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I say with a tired grin. “You shouldn’t have woken me up—I was really enjoying that drea-”

She slapped me.

I blink, the sting lingering on my cheek, spreading warmth across my skin. She actually slapped me. Her palm, smooth and soft, connected with my face in one swift, perfect moment, and I can still feel it, her touch lingering, burning.

“She slapped me…” I murmur under my breath, barely able to contain the odd thrill curling in my chest.

“Yeah, you fell asleep,” she says, her voice calm, almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t just marked me with her hand.

My fingers graze the spot where her touch lingered, feeling that warmth, that connection. I want to memorize every second of it, replay it, hold onto it.

“Oh, trust me, I felt it,” I mutter, a twisted smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I look up at her. She raises an eyebrow, and I feel that familiar pull, the need for her attention, her focus, her hand on me again—maybe not quite so firm, maybe softer this time.

Maybe she likes me too?