The sun had dipped just enough to soften the heat. Long shadows stretched across the garden paths, and the scent of cut grass lingered in the air.
A few students wandered between benches, some with earbuds in, others talking low over iced coffee cups.
Emily sat near the stone wall that wrapped around the edge of the garden, legs crossed, her laptop balanced against her thighs.
She was typing slowly — not rushed, not focused — the kind of typing that meant she was pretending to work while her mind wandered elsewhere.
Beside her, Lina was curled up more loosely, one leg drawn up on the bench, stylus in hand as she sketched on her tablet.
Her hair had loosened slightly since class, and a strand of hair kept falling into her face. She blew it away without thinking, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
They didn't speak much.
But it was a comfortable silence — the kind that didn't demand to be filled.
