The classroom buzzed with low chatter as the teacher scribbled equations across the board. Pens scratched, pages flipped, but all she could feel was the burn of eyes on her.
Kai's.
She tried to focus, tried to pretend she didn't notice, but every second dragged heavier. Finally, she gave in—her eyes flicking up, meeting his across the room. He didn't look away. Not once.
Her chest tightened.
When the teacher turned to write something new, Kai stood, smooth and casual, muttering something about needing another notebook. No one questioned him. He crossed the room quietly and slid into the empty desk beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
Her breath stilled.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges, meant only for her.
She blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… morning."
He leaned back, his posture loose but his eyes sharp. "You always fake it this hard, or is today special?"
Her pen slipped in her fingers. "What?"
"The smile. The laugh." His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it pressed down on her. "You're pretending again."
Heat flushed her cheeks, anger and panic tangled. "You don't know me."
Kai tilted his head slightly, studying her, his black hair falling into his eyes. "I don't need to. I can see it."
She bit her lip, heart pounding so loud she swore the entire class could hear it. "Then stop looking."
For a second, he didn't answer. His gaze softened—barely, almost imperceptibly. Then he leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing hers.
"Can't," he whispered.
The teacher turned around just then, voice booming, and the room jolted back to life. But the space between them stayed charged, electric, like they were in a world separate from everyone else.
And she knew—this was only the beginning.