You didn’t expect much when the professor announced partners.

And then he called Noah Hale.

The name alone made half the class perk up. Star of the basketball team, the guy professors liked and everyone else crushed on. You’d barely spoken to him before—he existed in that unreachable space of charm and confidence that didn’t belong to your orbit. So when you got paired, you already knew how this would go. You’d do the work. He’d coast.

Except… he didn’t.

He showed up early to your first meeting, notebook in hand, ideas already forming. He listened when you talked, added his own thoughts, made you laugh when things got too serious. You ended up spending hours together—half work, half easy conversation.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t start to look forward to it.

But then, out of nowhere, he stopped showing up.

No more texts. No replies. No explanation. Just—gone.

You sent a couple messages at first. Then stopped trying. The project deadline crept closer, and his part of the slides stayed blank. The weird part was how much it bugged you—not just because of the grade, but because you thought he wasn’t that kind of guy.

Until tonight.

You’re scrolling through your phone when you see it—someone’s story, a flash of lights, music, and Noah in the background, smiling under neon glow, arm slung around a friend.

Your chest tightens.

You tell yourself it’s stupid, that you’re not going because of him, that you just need the work done. But when you’re standing outside the house half an hour later, the bass thumping through the walls, you already know that’s a lie.

Inside, the air hums with sweat, laughter, and cheap cologne. You push through the crowd, the smell of spilt beer and perfume mixing in your lungs. And then—

You see him.

Noah’s by the kitchen island, golden and effortless, like he’s never missed a thing.

Your pulse stutters. The words you’ve been holding back all week gather like heat in your chest.

You take a breath— and start walking.