[Library – Second Floor]

Garren tapped his pen once against the side of the notebook. Then again.

A quiet, repetitive sound.

He wasn’t writing. Just watching the way the ink dried on the tip. The way his hand felt too still when it wasn’t doing anything.

Someone shifted a few rows over.

He glanced, barely.

Freshman. Curled posture. Hoodie too big. Not important.

He went back to the page. Blank. Still not ready to put anything on it.

He didn’t usually think about what he wanted.

He just did things. Watched how people responded. Made decisions from there.

But tonight—

Footsteps.

He didn’t turn.

She didn’t speak.

Just dropped into the chair across from him and set her bag on the table like she belonged there.

Aria.

Her expression was unreadable. Still dressed like she was coming from something official—black slacks, white button-up, that same subtle gold pin near her collar.

“You always sit alone?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

She opened her tablet. Didn’t look at him.

“I’m not here to talk,” she added.

“Then don’t.”

A beat passed.

She swiped the screen. Adjusted the brightness.

Didn’t say anything else.

Garren leaned back slightly.

He waited for whatever this was to reveal itself.

But it didn’t.

She just… stayed.

Five minutes passed. Maybe ten.

She didn’t ask why he wasn’t at council today. She didn’t bring up the studio. She didn’t ask who Tessa was.

But he knew she wanted to.

The silence didn’t feel confrontational. Just tense in the way people get when they’re trying not to show they’re affected.

Eventually, she looked at him.

Really looked.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“What.”

“That thing where you stare without blinking. Like you’re waiting for someone to trip over their own sentence.”

“I didn’t ask you to talk.”

She tilted her head, slight smile. Not friendly. Not fake either.

“You make it really hard for people to decide if they like you or want to walk away.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she sat back. Crossed one leg over the other. Folded her arms.

Garren could tell she hadn’t planned this.

She was working something out in real time.

“I saw Tessa’s sketch,” she said.

He didn’t move.

“She’s good. You should be flattered.”

Still no reaction.

Aria didn’t smile this time.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“No.”

“Why?”

He looked at her then.

Straight on.

“Because you didn’t come here to talk about her.”

She stared back for a long time.

Then looked down at her tablet again. Her finger hovered over the screen like she’d lost her train of thought.

He watched her throat shift when she swallowed.

There was something behind it. Something she didn’t want to say.

And he wasn’t going to help her get it out.

[Outside the Library – 40 Minutes Later]

They walked down the stone path side by side.

Not touching. Not close.

But not distant either.

No one else around this time of night. Just the wet sound of leaves brushing the sidewalk and a light wind blowing in from the quad.

Garren had his hands in his pockets.

Aria kept glancing forward. Like she wanted to say goodbye, but couldn’t find a natural way to do it.

At the steps, she finally stopped.

“You know, you don’t intimidate me.”

He looked at her. Neutral.

“Okay.”

“I mean it,” she added, a little sharper now. “You act like you're untouchable, but you’re not hard to read.”

He waited.

“Then read me,” he said.

A second passed.

She didn’t.

Instead, she exhaled, low and tight, and looked away.

“Forget it.”

Then she turned and walked off down the sidewalk, fast.

Like she was mad at herself.

Like saying it out loud made something worse.

Garren didn’t move.

He just stood there a while longer, staring in the direction she’d gone.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed on the steps.

The wind cut across the courtyard, lifting loose leaves and pushing cold into his sleeves. He didn’t feel it much. Not really. His body registered it, but his mind was stuck on the sound of her voice before she left.

“You’re not hard to read.”

That wasn’t true. Not completely.

Aria didn’t say things she didn’t mean—but she also didn’t say what she was actually thinking. Not unless it gave her leverage.

This hadn’t felt like that.

It felt like she wanted something out of him, but didn’t know what it was until it didn’t come.

He walked back toward the dorms. Lights off in most of the buildings. Everything quiet except for the gravel under his boots and the low hum of campus utilities ticking under manhole covers.

When he got to his door, there was a slip of paper tucked into the hinge.

Folded once.

He didn’t recognize the handwriting.

“Nurse Voss requested a signed follow-up. Please stop by before end of week. – Admin”

No signature.

No official stamp.

He stared at it for a second, then slipped it into his back pocket.

[Infirmary – Next Morning]

The lights were dimmer than usual.

Lydia sat behind her desk, posture rigid, hands laced together like she’d been thinking about something for too long and didn’t want to show it.

She didn’t stand when he walked in.

Just looked at him.

Then at the clock.

“You’re early.”

“You asked me to come.”

“I left a request. Not an invitation.”

He didn’t respond.

She hated when he didn’t speak. He could see it in the way her fingers curled slightly on the desk—subtle, unconscious.

“You didn’t show the last two mornings,” she said, standing now.

“I had nothing to report.”

She moved to the cabinet. Pulled gloves out. Slowly.

Mechanical.

He watched her movements. How her breath caught just slightly when she brushed past him to reach for a clipboard.

She wasn’t angry.

Not exactly.

But she wasn’t steady, either.

“You could’ve emailed,” he said.

Her hand paused on the drawer.

Then closed it harder than necessary.

“Is that what you want? Keep it clinical?”

She regretted it the second she said it. He saw it in the way her shoulders dropped.

But he didn’t press it.

Didn’t need to.

He sat on the table. Quiet.

She approached with a stethoscope, voice flat.

“Lift your shirt.”

He did.

She didn’t meet his eyes as she stepped closer.

The cold metal hit his skin.

Then lingered.

Longer than it needed to.

She cleared her throat and moved to his back.

“Breathe.”

He did.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, she stepped back too fast and dropped the stethoscope. It clattered against the floor and rolled under the counter.

Neither of them moved for a second.

She knelt to get it. When she stood, her face was red.

He watched her straighten her coat like it would make a difference.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Lydia opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

She wanted to say something.
She didn’t know how it would come out.

So she just shook her head.

And he left without waiting for more.