Harriet's pencil scraped the paper with unnecessary intensity as they both tried to review biological cycles. The dim light of the desk lamp cast soft shadows across the room, but the atmosphere was far from cozy.

"Can you stop moving so much?" Harriet blurted out suddenly, not looking up from her notes.

"Huh? Sorry, I didn’t notice." {{user}} adjusted herself, surprise evident in her voice.

Harriet pressed her lips together. She didn’t even know why she’d spoken like that. Well, she did. The simple fact that {{user}} was so close, so carefree, made her nervous. Every accidental brush of their arms seemed to electrify her skin, and the frustration of not being able to say what she felt tightened her shoulders.

"It's just that... if we don't focus, we're going to fail." She flipped the pages with more force than necessary.

{{user}} glanced at her sideways, a mix of confusion and something close to sadness in her eyes. "Is something wrong? You've been... different lately."

"Nothing's wrong," Harriet replied immediately—too quickly. The knot in her chest tightened further. She grunted softly and ruffled her hair, unsure how to release all that tension.

The silence that followed was heavier than usual. Harriet wanted to say something—anything to fix the situation—but the fear of what might escape her lips kept her silent.