The next morning came with the hum of sunlight through the blinds and the low chatter of students spilling into class. Ava had barely slept. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stop replaying Ethan's voice in her head.
> "Looks like we're partners."
Just four words. Simple. Yet, they lingered like a song she couldn't forget.
When she walked into Literature class, Ethan was already there—leaning back in his seat, earbuds in, tapping his pencil to a rhythm only he could hear. The sunlight caught in his dark hair, and Ava told herself not to look. But she did. Of course, she did.
"Morning," she said, sliding into the seat beside him.
He removed one earbud, flashing that calm half-smile. "You actually talk. I was starting to think you only nod."
She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. "You don't know me."
"I'm planning to," he said softly, leaning just a little closer.
Her breath caught, but before she could respond, their teacher clapped her hands at the front of the class. "Alright, everyone! Let's see how those project pairs are getting along."
Ava and Ethan exchanged a look—part curiosity, part challenge.
---
Later that afternoon, they met in the library. Books towered around them, sunlight streamed across the wooden table, and a soft silence wrapped them in a strange kind of comfort.
"So," Ethan said, breaking the quiet. "We're supposed to write about what love really means in classic literature."
Ava nodded, flipping through Pride and Prejudice. "You probably think it's boring."
He smirked. "Not really. I think it's interesting—how people say one thing but mean something else. How they hide how they feel."
She glanced at him, eyes narrowing. "You sound like you're talking about yourself."
"Maybe I am." His voice was low now. "What about you? You ever hide how you feel?"
Ava tried to hold his gaze, but her heart was racing. "I don't… I mean, sometimes."
Their eyes lingered—just a second too long.
A student coughed somewhere nearby, breaking the spell. Ethan smiled faintly, looking down at his notes. "Guess we should start writing before this turns into a movie scene."
She laughed softly, the sound surprising even her. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said, looking up again, "you're still here."
Ava looked down, cheeks warm. For the first time, the library didn't feel so quiet.
It felt alive—like the world was moving in slow motion.
Like she was seeing everything, and him, for the first time.