The rest of Tuesday dragged like wet concrete.
Lin Wei spent every class period hyper-aware of Huo Yan beside her—the occasional brush of his sleeve against hers when he reached for a pen, the way his knee stayed pressed lightly against her leg under the desk after the peer feedback session, the quiet rhythm of his breathing that somehow synced with hers when the room fell silent during reading time.
She told herself it was nothing.
She told herself she was imagining it.
But by the time the final bell rang, her nerves were frayed thin.
She gathered her things quickly, planning to bolt before he could say anything. Before he could make the air between them feel even heavier.
Too late.
As she stood, Huo Yan rose too—smooth, unhurried—and blocked the aisle just enough that she couldn't slip past without touching him.
"Library?" he asked, voice low. "We still have an hour booked for the project."
Lin Wei hesitated.
Xia Qing was already at the door, waving frantically like she was trying to telepathically scream *RUN*.
But Lin Wei met Huo Yan's eyes.
Steady. Patient. Almost gentle.
She exhaled.
"Fine. One hour. No detours."
He nodded once.
They walked to the library in silence—side by side, not quite touching, but close enough that every step felt deliberate.
The third-floor quiet section was empty again. Same corner table. Same slanted afternoon light.
They sat across from each other this time. Safer distance. Or so she thought.
Lin Wei opened her laptop.
Huo Yan opened his notebook.
They worked.
For twenty solid minutes, it was productive. Civil. Almost normal.
She typed up the executive summary while he cross-referenced financial reports from public filings.
Then he spoke.
"You're tense."
Lin Wei's fingers paused on the keys.
"I'm focused."
"You're gripping the edge of the table like it owes you money."
She forced her hands to relax.
"I'm fine."
Huo Yan set his pen down.
"Look at me."
She didn't want to.
But she did.
His expression was serious—no smirk, no arrogance.
"I'm not going to bite," he said quietly. "Not today."
Lin Wei swallowed.
"Then why does it feel like you're waiting for me to explode?"
"Because I know I pushed too far last week. And I know you're still deciding whether to trust the apology or brace for the next hit."
She stared at him.
He didn't look away.
"I meant what I said on Saturday," he continued. "I don't want easy. I want real. Even if real means you hate me half the time."
"I don't hate you," she said before she could stop herself.
His eyes flickered—surprise, then something softer.
"Good to know."
Silence again.
This time it felt… fragile.
Lin Wei closed her laptop halfway.
"I brought something to show you."
She reached into her bag and pulled out a slim folder—the printed proposal draft with her own handwritten notes in blue ink.
She slid it across the table.
Huo Yan opened it. Scanned the pages. His brow furrowed slightly.
"You rewrote the risk assessment section."
"Yeah. Your version was good, but it was missing the human cost angle—employee morale drop, talent exodus. I added data from employee review sites and Glassdoor leaks."
He read further.
Then looked up.
"This is better."
She shrugged. "I know."
A real smile broke across his face—small, genuine, devastating.
"You're insufferable."
"Takes one to know one."
He laughed—quiet, surprised.
Then he reached for his own bag and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
He slid it toward her.
It was her original assignment from last week—the one he'd "lost" and then returned. Except now it had red corrections in his handwriting. Not destructive. Constructive. Detailed feedback. A few question marks. A circled paragraph with *Strong argument—expand this* written beside it.
Lin Wei stared.
"You… graded it?"
"Reviewed it," he corrected. "Thought you might want another set of eyes."
She flipped the page.
At the bottom, in his neat script:
*Overall: 92/100. Deduction only because the conclusion could be sharper. You're better than good, Lin Wei. Don't settle for surviving here. Own it.*
She looked up at him.
"Why?"
"Because I was wrong," he said simply. "About a lot of things. And because you deserve to hear it."
Lin Wei's throat tightened.
She didn't trust herself to speak.
So she just nodded once.
They went back to work.
But the air had changed.
Softer.
Warmer.
When the hour ended, they packed up in quiet tandem.
As they stood to leave, Huo Yan paused at the table.
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
Lin Wei met his gaze.
"Tomorrow."
He nodded.
They walked out together—still not touching, but no longer on opposite sides of an invisible line.
And as they stepped into the hallway, Lin Wei realized something terrifying and thrilling at the same time:
She didn't want the hour to end.