Forced Proximity Has a Pulse
If there was one thing I hated more than surprises, it was pretending I was okay with them.
And yet, there I was the next afternoon, sitting across from Ethan Walker at a table in the school library, trying not to overthink the fact that his knee was accidentally—definitely—touching mine.
The library was quiet in that artificial way, like everyone was holding their breath out of respect for the word library rather than actual silence. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, dust floating lazily in the air.
I'd chosen the table.
Neutral territory. Public. Safe.
Ethan looked entirely too comfortable for someone invading my carefully controlled space.
"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms like we weren't about to plan six weeks of our lives together. "You always start projects this intensely, or am I special?"
"I'm not intense," I replied automatically, opening my planner and laying it between us like a shield. "I'm prepared."
He glanced down at it, eyes scanning the color-coded blocks, notes, and neatly written bullet points.
"…Wow," he said. "You plan thinking time?"
I snapped it shut. "Focus."
He grinned. Again, that quick, easy grin that made my stomach betray me. "You're cute when you're bossy."
I choked.
"I am not—" I stopped myself, inhaled slowly. "This project is forty percent of our grade. I'd like us to do well."
His expression shifted. Just a little.
"I know," he said. "I'm not here to mess it up."
There was something in his tone that made me pause. Not defensive. Not sarcastic.
Sincere.
I nodded, suddenly unsure why I'd assumed otherwise.
"Okay," I said. "Then let's start by dividing responsibilities."
We leaned in over the table, shoulders almost brushing. I could smell his cologne—something clean, faintly woodsy. Not overpowering. Not trying too hard.
Dangerous.
As we talked, I realized something unsettling.
Ethan was… smart.
Not I-raise-my-hand-every-class smart, but sharp. Insightful. He asked questions that made me rethink my own ideas. He listened. Actually listened.
At one point, he tilted his head, studying me.
"What?" I asked, self-conscious.
"You do that thing," he said.
"What thing?"
"You bite your lip when you're concentrating. Like you're afraid your thoughts might escape."
My face burned. "I do not."
"You are doing it right now."
I stopped immediately, mortified.
He laughed quietly, and the sound settled somewhere deep in my chest.
This was bad.
An hour later, we'd made more progress than I expected.
Two hours later, Maya appeared between the shelves like a summoned demon.
"Oh," she said brightly. "There you are."
"Hi, Maya," I said, warning in my voice.
She ignored it completely, leaning over my shoulder. "Wow. You're actually working together. I'm shocked."
Ethan smirked. "Low expectations?"
"Oh, absolutely," she replied without missing a beat. "No offense."
"None taken," he said. "I thrive on disappointment."
She eyed him, then me. Slowly.
"This feels illegal," she said. "Like I should be taking pictures."
"Maya."
"What? I'm just saying—you two look…" She waved her hand vaguely. "Domestic."
I knocked her foot with mine under the table.
She grinned and backed away. "Carry on. Try not to fall in love."
Ethan raised an eyebrow once she was gone. "She's intense."
"She's harmless," I said. "Mostly."
"Mostly," he repeated.
We went back to work, but something had shifted again. The air felt charged. Like a storm gathering quietly.
At some point, my phone buzzed with a notification.
Ethan glanced at it instinctively.
"You're popular," he said.
I smiled awkwardly. "Not really."
He hesitated, then asked, "Does it bother you? The rumors."
I froze.
"What rumors?"
He met my eyes steadily. "About me."
I swallowed.
I'd heard them. Everyone had. Stories exaggerated with each retelling, details blurred by judgment and boredom.
"I don't listen to rumors," I said carefully.
His gaze softened. "Good."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then the bell rang, sharp and final.
I gathered my things too quickly, standing up. "I should go. I have—stuff."
"Yeah," he said, standing too. "Me too."
We walked out together, silence heavy but not uncomfortable.
At the doors, he stopped.
"Emma," he said.
I turned.
"Thanks," he added. "For not treating me like… that."
I didn't ask what that was.
"See you tomorrow," I said instead.
He smiled. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
That night, I lay awake staring at my ceiling.
I told myself it was nothing. Just proximity. Just curiosity.
But when my phone buzzed again, my heart leapt anyway.
Ethan:You survived Day One. Impressive.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
Me:Barely.
Ethan:Library again tomorrow?
I hesitated.
Then:
Me:Okay.
A pause.
Ethan:Cool. Don't overplan it 😉
I laughed softly, pressing my phone to my chest.
This was not how things were supposed to go.
But for the first time in a long while, I didn't hate that.
End of Chapter Two