Joren woke up to the kind of silence that felt suspicious.
He turned toward Dale's bed. Empty. The sheets were rumpled, but Dale was gone—and so was Eve, the girl who'd been tangled in his sheets last night. No clothes on the floor, no perfume in the air, no awkward morning-after tension. Just absence.
He sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Did they elope or something?" he muttered.
His phone buzzed. A calendar notification lit up the screen:
'9:00 AM – Cognitive Neuroscience III (McAllister Hall, Room 204)'
He groaned. Ridgewood College had a way of making mornings feel like punishment. He pulled on jeans, grabbed a hoodie, and stuffed his notebook into his backpack. No breakfast. No time. Just vibes and academic survival.
The walk across campus was brisk and chilly. Students shuffled past in hoodies and beanies, clutching coffee cups like lifelines. Ridgewood's quad was dotted with fallen leaves and half-finished group projects abandoned on benches.
Joren reached McAllister Hall and climbed the stairs to Room 204. The lecture hall was already filling up—rows of tiered seats, fluorescent lighting, and the faint smell of dry-erase markers and stress.
He slipped into a seat near the middle. A few students glanced his way, then looked back at their phones or friends. He was just another face in the crowd.
Then the door opened and someone walked in.
It was Zuri.
Heads turned—briefly. She had that kind of quiet gravity. Not flashy, not loud. Just… noticeable. She scanned the room, spotted the empty seat next to Joren, and made her way over.
"Morning," she said, sliding into the chair.
"Barely," Joren replied. "I think I'm still dreaming."
Zuri smirked. "If this is a dream, it's a pretty boring one to say the least."
"No flying. No dragons. Just overpriced textbooks and caffeine addiction."
She chuckled, pulling out her tablet. "You look tired."
"I woke up to an empty room and a missing roommate. I'm either in a mystery novel or a prank show."
"Or both," she said. "Ridgewood loves crazy."
Before Joren could reply, the door at the front of the room opened again.
Professor Celeste Hart stepped in.
She was the kind of beautiful that made people sit up straighter without realizing it—mid-30s, poised, with sharp cheekbones and a voice that could cut through noise like silk through static.
"Good morning," she said, setting her tablet down. "Let's begin."
Joren blinked. Zuri leaned in slightly.
"She's terrifying," she whispered.
"She's mesmerizing," Joren whispered back.
"Same thing."
Professor Hart tapped her tablet, and the projector flickered to life behind her.
"Today we're diving into neural plasticity," she said, her voice smooth but commanding. "How the brain rewires itself—and how sometimes, it doesn't."
Joren leaned forward slightly. He wasn't sure if it was the topic or the way she said it, but something about her made even the driest neuroscience sound like a TED Talk with stakes.
Zuri scribbled something on her tablet, then glanced at him.
"She's good," she whispered.
"Not exactly a good thing," Joren whispered back. "I'd probably confess to crimes I didn't commit if she asked nicely."
Zuri stifled a laugh.
Professor Hart turned toward the class. "Let's start with a question. What's the difference between synaptic pruning and long-term potentiation?"
Silence.
A few students looked down, suddenly fascinated by their shoelaces.
Joren felt Zuri nudge him. "You know this," she mouthed.
He hesitated, then raised his hand—halfway, like he was testing the water.
Professor Hart's eyes landed on him. "Yes?"
Joren cleared his throat. "Uh… synaptic pruning is when the brain eliminates unused connections. Long-term potentiation is when it strengthens the ones that are used often."
She nodded. "Correct. And that's the foundation of learning. Use it or lose it."
Joren felt a flicker of pride. Zuri gave him a subtle thumbs-up.
The lecture rolled on—slides, diagrams, a few dry jokes that only the front row laughed at. But Joren stayed engaged. For once, he wasn't just surviving class. He was in it.
As the hour ticked by, Professor Hart wrapped up with a final note.
"Next week, you'll be paired for a short presentation. Topics will be assigned randomly. Prepare to collaborate."
Groans echoed through the room.
Zuri leaned over. "If I get paired with someone who thinks group work means 'do nothing and still get credit,' I'm dropping out."
Joren smirked. "If I get paired with someone who shows up with glitter pens and no clue, I'm transferring."
They both laughed quietly as students began packing up. Joren slung his backpack over one shoulder, ready to follow Zuri out. That's when he caught the low murmur of voices near the front.
Three guys had gathered around Professor Hart. Their tone wasn't loud, but it was sharp—just enough edge to make Joren pause.
"…you could just fix it. No one's gonna check."
"…we're not asking for much."
"…unless you want this to get messy."
Joren couldn't hear everything, but the vibe was off. The professor stood her ground, posture straight, voice calm—but there was a flicker in her eyes. Not fear. Not quite. Just… strain.
He stepped closer. "Is everything alright here?"
The tallest guy turned, smirking. "What's it to you?"
"Yeah," another added. "Mind your business, man."
They walked off, laughing like they'd won something.
Professor Hart didn't move for a moment. Then she turned to Joren, her voice composed but distant.
"I appreciate you stepping in. But next time… maybe let me handle it."
Joren nodded. "Just didn't like the way they were talking to you."
She gave a tight smile. "I can handle it. But I appreciate the gesture."
He could still see it—the faint tension in her jaw, the way her fingers curled around her tablet just a little too tightly. But he didn't push.
"She knows what she's doing," he told himself.
Zuri was waiting by the door. "That was… something."
"Yeah," Joren said. "Let's get out of here."
They walked out together, the hallway buzzing with students and the quiet weight of what had just happened.