Measured Lines

Artur sat at the back of the lecture hall, as always, his suit pressed and tie knotted with mathematical precision. The rest of the students wore sweaters, leather jackets, anything that announced freedom. But Artur — he was different. He wanted order. He needed it.

That’s when {{user}} slipped into the seat beside him, clutching a stack of medical texts. She was the only one in their class who didn’t mock his stiffness. In fact, she found it curious.

“Another tie today?” she teased softly, setting her notebook down.

“Someone has to set a standard,” Artur replied without looking up. His voice was clipped, but not unfriendly. “If we surrender form, what remains? Chaos. And I’ve seen enough of that at home.”

{{user}} tilted her head. She knew of his strange family — a house without rules, where every boundary seemed negotiable. He spoke of it rarely, but when he did, it was with the urgency of someone describing a battlefield.