(Amara's POV)
If lateness was an Olympic sport, I'd have a gold medal and a standing ovation.
I was an hour late to tutoring. Again.
Ethan Reynolds was already seated in the library, acting like the ghost of academic guilt, tapping his pen against his notebook with surgical precision.
"Wow," I said, dropping my bag. "You're still alive. Thought maybe you'd explode waiting for me."
Ethan's jaw twitched. "You're late. Again."
"Technically, I'm fashionably late," I shot back, pulling out a chair like I owned the place.
He gave me that look. The one that made me want to roll my eyes so hard they'd leave orbit. "You know, Amara, this isn't funny. You've skipped half the material—"
"Yeah, because I have a life."
He groaned. "You can't keep showing up whenever you feel like it. This is serious."
"Serious for you," I muttered. "For me, it's torture."
He set his pencil down, pinching the bridge of his nose like I was a migraine. "You don't even try. You just sit here, pretend to listen, and zone out."
"Maybe your teaching style's boring," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Ever thought of that?"
Ethan gave me that half-sigh, half-prayer look. "You act like you don't care about anything."
That hit harder than it should've.
"Maybe I don't," I said quietly, staring at the table.
The silence that followed was awkward enough to make the bookshelves judge us. I stood up, ready to leave.
"Amara, wait—"
He grabbed my wrist. Not hard, but enough to make me pause.
"I'm not your enemy," he said. "I'm trying to help you."
I blinked at him. "Then stop talking to me like my dad."
Before he could respond—
"Yo, Reynolds!"
The voice cut through the tension like a slice of chaos.
Malik Sharma strolled in, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly messy, that stupid half-smile on his face like he was allergic to rules. His hoodie was half unzipped, chain glinting in the light. Great.
"Everything good here?" Malik asked, looking between me and Ethan like he'd just walked in on a soap opera.
Ethan straightened. "We're fine."
"Doesn't look fine," Malik said with a grin. "Unless your definition of fine is making your partner look ready to throw hands."
"I said we're fine."
"Sure, Reynolds." Malik smirked. "Keep telling yourself that."
I bit back a laugh. Watching them argue was entertainment I didn't know I needed.
Malik turned to me. "You coming or what? Before he gives you detention for existing late."
"Gladly," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
Ethan's voice followed us out: "You can't just walk out in the middle of a lesson!"
I didn't even look back. "Watch me."
---
The hallway was quiet except for our footsteps and the faint hum of the AC.
"Thanks," I said finally. "That was… mildly heroic."
Malik chuckled. "Mildly? Wow. I risked my perfect reputation for that rescue."
I side-eyed him. "Perfect reputation? You literally got detention for 'accidentally' setting off the fire alarm."
He grinned. "Keyword—accidentally."
I snorted. "Sure."
We turned a corner, and he glanced at me. "You okay, though? Reynolds looked like he was about to start an intervention."
"Yeah, I'm fine. He just talks too much."
"He does that. It's like he thinks he's the main character in a TED Talk."
That made me laugh, and it felt… good. Like a crack in the wall I'd built up.
We passed a row of lockers when he suddenly stopped walking.
"What?" I asked.
Malik rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. "Uh… random, but—I never actually apologized."
"For what?"
He looked up. "For spilling coffee on your notebook a few weeks ago. The one with the doodles all over it."
I blinked. I didn't even think he remembered. "Oh. That."
He nodded, sheepish. "Yeah. I felt bad, but you looked like you were about to bite my head off that day, so…"
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. "You were kind of a jerk."
"I know," he admitted. "So… sorry."
I don't know why that made me feel weirdly warm inside. Maybe because people rarely said sorry and meant it.
"Thanks," I said softly.
He smiled, that boyish kind that didn't feel practiced. "Don't thank me yet. I'm still terrible at handling coffee."
"Noted."
We started walking again, the tension gone now, replaced by something… lighter.
---
We ended up staying back in the empty classroom, him leaning on a desk while I doodled on a corner of a leftover worksheet.
"Why are you even here?" I asked. "You don't seem like the extra-study type."
He shrugged. "Basketball practice got canceled. Plus, I like the quiet sometimes."
I looked at him. "You? Quiet?"
He grinned. "Shocking, right?"
We talked a bit after that—about random things. Music, the school Wi-Fi being trash, the cafeteria food that tasted like cardboard. Nothing deep, just… easy.
At some point, he leaned back in his chair and said, "You know, you're different."
I raised a brow. "Define different."
"You don't try to impress people. You just… exist."
"That's the nicest way anyone's ever called me lazy."
He laughed. "Nah, I mean it. It's kinda refreshing."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I looked away, cheeks feeling way too warm.
When the bell finally rang, he stood and tossed a crumpled tissue into the bin. "Guess we survived study hour."
"Barely," I said, smiling despite myself.
As he headed for the door, he turned back with that teasing grin. "Don't skip tomorrow. I might actually miss you."
"Dream on, Sharma."
He winked. "Already am."
I just stood there, pretending not to smile until he was gone.
---
Okay, fine. Maybe I was smiling.
Like a lot.
Because damn.
Malik Sharma was really hot.
Like—oh-so-hot-dayumm🔥😝 levels of hot.
And the worst part?
He knew it.