The lecture on Modern Narrative droned on, a river of academic theory flowing past Amelia's ears without soaking in. Her entire world had shrunk to the eighteen inches of shared desk space between her and Adrian Vale. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, a subtle, living presence that was as distracting as a fire alarm.
She kept her spine rigid, her gaze locked on Professor Evans, who was currently dissecting the unreliable narrator in Wuthering Heights with the grim satisfaction of a surgeon. Amelia tried to focus on taking notes, but her handwriting, usually neat and compact, had become a spiky, anxious scrawl.
Heathcliff's torment is a reflection of the social constraints of his time…
Adrian shifted in his seat, his elbow brushing against hers for a fraction of a second. A jolt, like a static shock, shot up her arm. She flinched and pulled her arm back, tucking it safely against her ribs.
…the moors themselves act as a character, wild and untamable…
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. He wasn't taking notes. He wasn't even looking at the professor. He was sketching something in the margin of his notebook with a sleek, silver pen. It looked like the intricate skeleton of a building, all sharp angles and precise lines. Of course he was an architecture major. Of course he could draw. He probably also played the cello and spoke fluent French.
She risked another glance. His focus was absolute, his brow slightly furrowed. For a moment, he wasn't the smug campus royalty; he was just a guy, lost in a drawing. Then, as if sensing her stare, his eyes flicked up and met hers.
Amelia snapped her head back towards the front, her face heating. She heard a soft, low chuckle beside her.
When the professor finally dismissed them ninety minutes later, Amelia practically launched herself out of her seat, scrambling to shove her notebook into her backpack. Escape was the only objective.
"Amelia, was it?"
His voice stopped her as she was about to flee up the aisle. She turned, forcing a neutral expression. "Yes?"
Professor Evans was standing at the front, consulting a clipboard. "Before you all go, a quick administrative note," she announced, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Given the seminar-style nature of this course, I'm implementing a permanent seating chart to foster consistent discussion groups. I'll post the list on the door. Find your assigned seat next class and stick with it."
A collective groan rippled through the room. Amelia's heart plummeted into her stomach. No. It couldn't be.
She joined the small crowd gathering at the door, her stomach a tight knot of dread. She scanned the typed list, her finger tracing down the rows until she found her name.
Row E: Seat 12 - Amelia Reed
Her eyes slid to the name next to it.
Row E: Seat 11 - Adrian Vale
The universe wasn't just laughing at her; it was holding its sides, tears streaming down its face, howling with gleeful, malicious joy.
She felt a presence at her shoulder. "Seat 11," Adrian mused, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. "And look at that. You're right next to me. What are the odds?"
"Statistically improbable," she muttered, turning away from the list and pushing through the crowd into the hallway.
He fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her hurried pace. "Don't look so thrilled. I don't bite. Often."
"I'm not thrilled, I'm… resigned," she corrected, heading for the main doors and the sweet, sweet freedom of outside.
"To a whole semester of my sparkling conversation? You should be paying extra tuition."
"I think I'd rather pay for a root canal," she shot back, surprising herself with the sharpness of the retort. She wasn't usually this quick, this combative. He brought it out in her, like a rash.
He laughed, a genuine, full-throated sound that turned the heads of a group of girls passing by. They giggled and whispered, shooting Amelia looks of pure, unadulterated envy. She felt like she'd been cast in a play without learning her lines.
"You're different," he said, his tone shifting, becoming more contemplative.
"Different from what?"
"From most people here." He gestured vaguely at the students milling around the grand stone steps of the humanities building. "They either fall all over themselves to agree with me or they get so nervous they can't form a sentence. You just… tell me you'd prefer dental surgery. It's refreshing."
"Glad I can amuse you," she said, stopping at the top of the steps. "But I have to go."
"Where to? The library?" The smirk was back.
"As a matter of fact, yes. Some of us have to work for our grades."
The words were out before she could stop them, a cheap shot, but it hit its mark. The amusement in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder, flatter. It was there for only a second, a shutter slamming down, but she saw it.
"Right," he said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Well, don't let me keep you from your toil."
He gave her a curt nod and then turned, descending the steps two at a time. He was immediately absorbed by a group of guys in rowing team jackets, their backslaps and loud greetings creating an impenetrable force field around him.
Amelia stood there for a moment, the brief, strange connection severed. She felt a pang of something that felt suspiciously like regret. She hadn't meant to be quite so harsh. But he made her feel defensive, like she had to constantly prove she wasn't impressed by him, that she wasn't like "most people here."
Shaking her head, she headed towards the student union, her real destination. The campus was a sprawling, picturesque mix of old Gothic stone and sleek modern glass, but Amelia's world revolved around a few key locations: her dorm, her classes, and the one place that funded her textbooks and coffee habit—the Grounds Keep, the campus coffee shop where she worked twenty hours a week.
Pushing through the door, she was greeted by the familiar, comforting sounds of the espresso machine hissing and the low hum of student conversation. The smell of roasted beans was a balm to her frayed nerves.
"Hey, you're late," a friendly voice called from behind the counter. Ethan looked up from the milk he was steaming, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. He was a year ahead of her, a history major with the calm, steady presence of a guy who had his life together. His dark, curly hair was perpetually a mess, and he wore a faded band t-shirt under his green apron.
"Sorry," Amelia said, ducking behind the counter to stash her backpack. "Lit class ran long. Permanent seating chart disaster."
"Oh yeah? Stuck next to a mouth-breather or a compulsive talker?"
"Worse." She tied her own apron on with a little too much force. "Adrian Vale."
Ethan's eyebrows shot up. "Get out. The Adrian Vale? As in, 'his family name is on the new science building' Vale?"
"The very same." She grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the already-clean counter with aggressive vigor. "And I spilled coffee on him this morning. It's been a whole thing."
Ethan let out a low whistle, finishing the latte and handing it to a waiting customer. "Sounds like an eventful first day. So, what's he like? I've only ever seen him from a distance, like a rare and expensive bird."
Amelia thought about the arrogant smile, the sketching hand, the flicker of coldness when she'd mentioned working for grades. "He's… infuriating."
"Infuriatingly good-looking, you mean?"
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to." Ethan grinned, nudging her with his elbow. "It's the universal female consensus. So, is he as much of a jerk as he seems?"
Amelia paused, the cloth stilling on the counter. Was he? He was arrogant, yes. Condescending, absolutely. But there had been that moment of genuine laughter, that comment about her being 'refreshing.' It was confusing.
"He's complicated," she finally said, which felt like a betrayal of her own initial assessment.
"Rich people usually are," Ethan said with a shrug, his practicality a grounding force. "Don't let him get in your head, Reed. He's just a guy in a fancy sweater."
Just a guy. But he wasn't, and they both knew it. He was a force of nature on this campus, and against her will, she'd been caught in his orbit.
Later that evening, back in her dorm room, she relayed the entire saga to Sophie over a video call. Her roommate, Chloe, was out, so she had the small, twin-bedded room to herself.
"So let me get this straight," Sophie said, her face pixelated with excitement. "You have a Cinderella-meets-Prince-Charming moment with coffee instead of a glass slipper, you're now destined to sit next to him for the entire semester, and your cute coworker is already jealous? Amelia, this is gold!"
"There was no destiny, and Ethan is not jealous. He's just… Ethan." Amelia flopped back on her bed, staring at the textured ceiling tiles. "And it wasn't charming. It was humiliating."
"Humiliating is the new charming! This is how all the best stories start. He's going to bring you a new sweater, you'll argue passionately about books, and then he'll kiss you in the rain."
"You've been reading too many of those books you stock at the bookstore," Amelia groaned. "This is real life. In real life, guys like Adrian Vale date models named Lillian who wear heels to a 9 a.m. lecture. They don't date messy, scholarship students who work in coffee shops."
"Stop it," Sophie chided. "You're not messy. You're interesting. And you're beautiful. And you're way smarter than he is. Maybe that's why he's intrigued. Maybe he's tired of models who can't spell 'Wuthering Heights.'"
Amelia smiled in spite of herself. "You have to say that. You're my best friend."
"Damn right I do. And I'm always right. Now, what are you wearing to your next class with him? You need to project 'I am a powerful, intellectual goddess who is completely unimpressed by your wealth and bone structure.'"
Amelia laughed, the tension of the day finally beginning to ease. As she got ready for bed, she thought about Adrian's drawing, the focused quiet of him in that moment. She thought about the way his laughter had sounded, genuine and unguarded.
He's just a guy in a fancy sweater, Ethan had said.
But as she closed her eyes, the memory of those clear blue eyes, amused and then shuttered, was the last thing she saw. Unwanted proximity, indeed. It was going to be a very long semester.