One evening, I found him in the campus library.
He wasn't supposed to be there.
It was my world, not his.
He sat at a corner table reading a thick book, his glasses resting low on his nose.
He looked… unfairly good.
When he noticed me, his brows lifted slightly.
"You're here late."
"So are you," I shot back.
He closed his book.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Stress?"
"Something like that."
I sat across from him before I realized what I was doing.
He didn't tell me to leave.
He didn't avoid my gaze.
Instead, he whispered, "You should be resting."
"You should, too."
A soft silence settled between us.
It felt like a shared secret
—one neither of us was ready to explain.