When the class finally ended, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the overlapping chatter of students rose like a sudden wave, hot and restless, filling the room from wall to wall. Conversations burst out all around, loud and animated, as if everyone had been holding their breath through the lecture and could finally talk freely again. Micah, however, seemed completely detached from the noise. His thoughts were tangled elsewhere, circling endlessly around Ilyas and the unease that had been gnawing at him since lunchtime.
He remained seated for a moment longer than most, fingers methodically gathering his scattered sketches from the desk. The paper edges brushed against each other with a soft rustle as he stacked them neatly. He slid his pencils into their case, checking twice out of habit to make sure none were left behind. Only after everything was in order did he unzip his bag and tuck them inside, his movements calm but absentminded.
