Monday tasted like tired dreams.
Ayra slipped into her lecture hall five minutes early, hoping to pick her usual corner seat — second row from the back, window side, quiet, safe.
She dropped into the chair, head low, textbook out, earbuds in. Music wasn't playing. She just wanted the world to leave her alone.
And it worked.
For two minutes.
Then the door opened, and the shift in energy made her glance up.
Cairo walked in like the class was for him.
Black hoodie again. Chain barely peeking out. Backpack slung over one shoulder, like he wasn't really planning to stay.
He didn't look around.
He looked straight at her.
Her breath caught.
She looked away immediately, cursing herself.
But it was too late.
Because when she looked up again…
He was walking toward her row
Zayn was already seated — two seats away from her, face unreadable, pretending she didn't exist.
She thought maybe Cairo would sit beside him.
Boys and their coded space.
But instead, Cairo pulled out the chair right next to hers and dropped into it like it belonged to him.
The whole row shifted. Her heart too.
"Morning, Seatmate," he said, low enough for her ears only.
She didn't reply.
She didn't look at him.
But her fingers twitched on the page of her book
The lecturer walked in. Some guy with a thick accent and a whiteboard marker. Started talking about Behavioral Models and Personality Clusters.
Ayra tried to focus.
But Cairo leaned back in his chair, legs wide, fingers drumming lightly on his desk like he was bored of the world.
Then he pulled out a pen, leaned forward, and — without asking — drew a single dot on the corner of her notebook page.
She stared at it.
"If that dot were you," he whispered, "and that desk were the world… where would I fit in?"
She turned her face slightly. Not enough to look at him. Just enough to whisper back:
"Outside it."
He chuckled. Low. Deep. The kind that sits in your chest after it's gone.
Zayn shifted in his seat a few spaces away.
Ayra could feel it — the heat, the wall, the weight of being looked at by two different boys who weren't saying what they meant
When the class ended, Cairo stood first.
Dropped his pen in her notebook and walked out without a word.
Ayra stared at it.
Black ink. Smooth shell.
Cool to the touch.
Something written in small letters on the side.
"Borrowed time."