The moment the lecture began, Micah felt sweat gathering at the back of his neck. It wasn't even hot in the classroom, quite the opposite. The autumn breeze seeping through the cracked windows made half the students hunch into their hoodies. But Micah? He was practically melting.
His unbandaged hand, with a visible wound that he had stupidly shown Emile earlier, pulsed like a neon sign screaming, 'Look at me! Inspect me! Discover my secret identity as Asena!'
Micah kept his gaze glued to the front, pretending to be absorbed in the professor's monotone explanation of Statistics and probability, using some example about mass-producing a new fabric. His pen hovered over his notebook, never moving, because one twitch might expose his trembling fingers.
Such a rookie mistake! Why... WHY… had he shown Emile his injured hand like it was some badge of honour?!
How could he be this careless? The last thing he wanted was to be mocked by Emile!
