Usually, I found refuge in the annexe at six-thirty in the morning. Keep quiet. It was dark—only the occasional shuffle of paper and the gentle scratching of pens.
However, it felt like entering an interrogation room that morning.
Since he had already arrived.
The faint light of dawn framed Zhou Mingyu as she sat by the window. His posture was flawless, as though slouching were a capital offense. It was open, his notebook full of precise, clean lines of text that resembled art rather than notes.
And the moment I stepped inside, his unreadable, piercing eyes lifted.
I nearly ran away and turned around.
Running, however, was no longer an option. No, not after the altercation on the rooftop. Not after he had examined me as though he could see right through all of my thin pretexts and uncover the truth.
So, in an attempt to cover up my nervousness with a fanciful display of fatigue, I pushed my legs forward and flopped dramatically into the seat across from him.
"Morning," I rubbed my eyes and muttered.
He said, "Morning," in a steady, even voice.
Even though it was only one word, my heart rate went up.
The ensuing quiet was not the typical kind. Our study sessions were typically characterized by the sounds of learning—or, in my case, the sounds of struggling and his disappointed sigh.
The air, however, was heavier now. More dense. It felt like every movement was magnified. He scratched his pen. When he moved, the chair creaked slightly; his breathing was a steady, gentle rhythm.
Though I tried to concentrate on my notes, the words started to jumble. Instead, my mind provided useless commentary: Does he always sit that straight? His hand is very steady. Why does the sunlight make his hair look like that…
I shook my head violently, earning a raised eyebrow from him.
"Problem?" he asked.
"Uh—no! Just… fighting sleep."
"Then don't."
Easy for him to say. The man probably dreamt in equations.
Ten minutes in, disaster struck.
I reached for my highlighter, but the cap was stuck. I twisted, pulled, and cursed under my breath—until it flew out of my grip. The stupid thing bounced once and rolled across the desk.
Straight into his hand.
He picked it up, studied it for half a beat, then extended it toward me.
I reached to grab it—quick, casual, nothing weird. But my hand brushed his fingers.
Warm. Calloused. Steady.
And he didn't pull away.
Neither did I.
The highlighter sat like a fragile bridge between us, the silence stretching taut. My heartbeat thundered so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
Finally, I yanked my hand back, ears burning. "T-thanks."
He gave the faintest nod, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary.
I wanted to scream.
The rest of the hour was torture.
He leaned in closer than usual, his shoulder nearly brushing mine as he explained derivatives. His voice dipped lower, softer, almost intimate. Every time his sleeve brushed my arm, my entire body went stiff.
And when our knees bumped under the desk—entirely by accident, I swear—I almost levitated.
I tried writing in my notebook to distract myself, but at one point, I realized I'd written the phrase 'don't panic' six times in a row. Which, naturally, only made me panic harder.
Outside the annexe, things weren't any better.
The rumor mill was relentless.
"Forget it—Zhou Mingyu treats Lin Chen differently."
"He doesn't even look at other people like that."
"Do you think… Is Lin Chen special to him?"
Special.
The word clung to me like gum to a shoe. I couldn't shake it, no matter how hard I tried.
Was I special? Or was everyone just reading too much into it?
Qiao Rui certainly wasn't helping.
"You know," he said over dinner, "if you keep turning red every time he glances your way, people are going to stop calling them rumors and start calling them facts."
I choked on my rice. "I do not turn red!"
"You literally look like a boiled shrimp right now."
"Shut up."
By Friday, I was hanging by a thread. My only hope was the professor's announcement of the semester's big project.
"Paired research," she said, smiling like she wasn't sentencing us to death. "Four weeks. Thirty percent of your grade."
The room erupted in groans. Desks screeched as everyone scrambled to claim partners.
I was halfway out of my chair, hand raised to signal Qiao Rui, when a shadow fell over me.
"Lin Chen."
That voice. Calm. Firm.
I froze.
Zhou Mingyu stood beside me, gaze steady as ever.
"You'll work with me," he said.
The classroom went silent.
Someone actually gasped. Someone else whispered, "He chose first. He never chooses first."
I nearly fainted. "W-wait—don't I get a say in this—
No," he replied, tone final.
And just like that, my fate was sealed.
The top student, campus legend, untouchable Zhou Mingyu, had just publicly claimed me as his partner.
The rumor mill was about to detonate.
And my heart? My heart was an idiot.
Because instead of pure dread, I felt a flicker of something else.
Something dangerously close to excitement.