His pov:

The morning was clear, but honestly, it wouldn’t feel right unless I messed with her at least once before class.

Usually, spotting her wasn’t hard. She’d strut down the walkway like it was a damn runway—heels clicking, outfit screaming confidence, and that look on her face like the world owed her a crown.

But today... something was off.

I saw her from a distance, walking slower than usual. Hoodie pulled low over her head, sweatpants—or maybe thick joggers? Whatever they were, they weren’t her.

I narrowed my eyes. Maybe she was trying to avoid me. Wouldn't be the first time she pulled something dramatic. But her steps were too slow. Not her usual ‘ugh, go away’ kind of slow. More like… ‘I might pass out in the next five minutes’ kind of slow.

I caught up to her, ready to drop some smartass line I thought of last night, but the second she turned to glance at me—

Damn.

She looked pale. Her lips were dry. Cheeks flushed, but not the kind of blush she usually layers on to mess with guys. This was fever-red. She kept walking, pretending she was fine. Classic. Stubborn as hell.

I let out a breath—short, annoyed at myself more than her—and without saying anything, I slipped the strap of her bag off her shoulder and swung it over mine.

“Hey!” she croaked, glaring, but her voice barely had the strength behind it.

“This thing weighs a ton. You planning to faint halfway up the stairs?” I muttered, doing my best to sound like I didn’t give a damn.

She gave me a sideways look, suspicious. “You care now?”

“No. I just don’t want to get blamed if you collapse and cause a scene.”

She huffed, but didn’t protest further. Kept walking, slower now. And somehow, I matched her pace.

Usually I chase her. Today... I walked beside her. Just to make sure she didn’t fall.

Shit. Something about this morning felt different.