For the first time in weeks, Celine found herself waiting outside the library not because she needed a book or was avoiding her flatmates, but because she knew George would be there.
She didn't want to admit it. Not even to herself. But after the group project incident, and the accidental late-night conversation in the campus café, something had shifted between them. He wasn't just the annoying guy who always made her blood boil anymore. He was… tolerable. Funny, even. Infuriatingly charming.
The double doors of the library swung open and out stepped George, a stack of books balanced precariously in one hand, earbuds dangling from his hoodie. He noticed her immediately, his eyebrows rising just slightly in surprise before a slow smile tugged at his lips.
"Well, well. If it isn't Miss Type-A herself," he teased, his voice carrying that familiar smoothness. "Don't tell me you're stalking me now."
Celine crossed her arms. "Don't flatter yourself. We have a study session, remember?"
He feigned offense. "Right. Study session. I assumed you'd cancel again like the last two times."
"I didn't cancel," she retorted. "I rescheduled."
George shook his head with mock gravity. "Tomato, tomato."
She rolled her eyes but followed him into the library all the same. They settled into their usual corner quiet, tucked away, with just enough space for their mess of papers, snacks, and clashing personalities.
For the first fifteen minutes, they actually studied. Or at least, she did. George mostly doodled in the margins of his notes and offered the occasional sarcastic comment.
But then he asked her something unexpected.
"Do you ever feel like you're living the life someone else designed for you?"
Celine paused, blinking at him. "What?"
He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Like, everyone expects you to be a certain way. Smart. Serious. Put-together. And you're playing the role so well, you don't even know if it's actually you anymore."
For a moment, Celine didn't know how to respond. It was the kind of question she asked herself in quiet moments—when she was alone with her thoughts and no one needed her to be 'the responsible one.'
She closed her laptop and looked at him. "Yeah," she admitted. "More than I'd like to admit."
Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. For once, no snarky remarks or raised eyebrows. Just honesty.
"Maybe we're not as different as we thought," George murmured, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
Celine smiled back. "Don't push your luck."
He chuckled. "Too late."
They stayed in that corner longer than planned—talking, laughing, and even sharing stories about their families and embarrassing childhood moments. The space between them, once filled with eye-rolls and tension, began to shrink.
By the time they packed up their things, it was almost dark outside.
"Walk you back to your dorm?" George asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
As they walked side by side, Celine felt something strange in her chest light, warm, and terrifying. Because somehow, without meaning to, she was starting to like George Lawson.
And for the first time since they met, the thought didn't make her roll her eyes.
It made her smile.