The weeks seemed to blur together.
It was already the middle of the semester, and Monica felt like time was sprinting past her while she was left catching her breath in the background. Every day was packed—assignments, revisions, deadlines, and the endless cycle of school routines. She barely had time to think, let alone feel.
Wednesday afternoons were reserved for extra math classes. The room always felt too cold, the whiteboard scribbled with formulas that tangled in her head like spaghetti. But there was one comforting constant—Lynx was there too. He always sat near the back, the same sleepy look on his face, chin resting on one hand while his other hand scribbled down notes with surprising neatness.
They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. But somehow, just having him there grounded her.
Fridays were for extra English classes. Monica actually liked those sessions a bit more. They were slower, calmer—and maybe because she loved words more than numbers. Sometimes, their teacher would give them group tasks, and Lynx, who normally avoided people, never objected to being paired with her.
It was subtle, their bond. Nothing loud or dramatic. But in between pages of literature analysis and grammar exercises, their quiet companionship grew stronger.
She started noticing little things. How Lynx would pass her a pen when she forgot hers. How he'd nudge her gently with his elbow when she spaced out during class. How they'd share glances whenever someone in class said something ridiculous. It wasn't flirtation—it was something else. Something steadier.
But they were busy. So busy.
Even outside of classes, Monica barely had time to text him. Their conversations were short now—just check-ins and reminders about classwork.
Yet, every time she caught a glimpse of him during recess or passing by in the hallway, her heart still flipped the same way it did a year ago. It reminded her that even if they didn't talk every day, even if they didn't always sit together anymore, there was still something real threading between them—thin but unbreakable.
One rainy Wednesday, after math class ended late, Monica walked under the covered walkway beside Lynx. They didn't talk at all, just walked slowly side by side, the sound of rain filling the silence.
She glanced at him once, and he looked back at her.
No words were exchanged, but in that moment, she felt seen.
Busy days, tangled schedules, long classes—they didn't erase what they had. It just lived quietly, between the lines of time they managed to steal.
And sometimes, that was enough.