11:42 p.m.
The campus library had emptied out—mostly. Just the soft shuffle of papers, the occasional cough, and a flickering desk lamp that hadn't been fixed since 2016.
Ethan sat by the window, laptop open, eyes drifting from macroeconomics slides to the glowing screen of his phone. Another payment notification. Another content piece delivered.
Stack small wins. Own the timeline.
But tonight wasn't about gigs or growth.
It was about her.
Sienna slid into the seat across from him, wearing a grey hoodie too large for her frame, sleeves half-covering her hands. Her hair was tied messily, like she didn't care. But Ethan knew better.
She always cared.
"This place gives haunted mansion vibes," she whispered.
Ethan smirked. "Then you probably shouldn't have worn the ghost costume."
She stuck out her tongue. "It's a hoodie. Comfort over fashion. You should try it sometime, Mr. Tactical."
(She wants softness from you tonight. Not just strategy. Just as expected from her mental state.... Haha ...)
"I like sharp lines," he said, not looking away. "But I'm learning to appreciate contrast."
Her eyes lingered on him a beat too long.
---
They studied for thirty minutes. Real notes. Actual effort. She took the lead, reading from a textbook while Ethan filled in the blanks—watching her more than he should.
Then it happened.
She sighed and leaned back, stretching her arms. The hoodie slipped, revealing a bare shoulder beneath.
"Ugh," she said, "I hate supply curves. They make me feel stupid."
"You're not stupid," he said quietly. "Just underestimating yourself again."
(A person who always defame himself or herself is very insecure and mentally unstable,quite easy to hook them ..... Aand she is valuable depending on her choices...)
She blinked at that.
"No one's ever corrected me like that."
Because no one sees you like I do. Yet.
She tilted her head. "You're different when it's quiet. Less... guarded."
Ethan leaned forward, voice lower. "That's because quiet is where the real questions live."
She stared at him, unblinking.
Then: "Ask one."
He didn't flinch. "Why do you deflect when someone compliments your mind?"
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Seconds passed.
Then, softly: "Because I spent years being told I was pretty before I was told I was smart. It messed with the algorithm."
Ethan didn't smile. He didn't joke.
He just held her gaze.
"You're both. And you weaponize it. But I see the difference."
(A Lil flattering is fair...)
The air thickened. Books forgotten. Slides untouched. The window reflected them—two outlines, leaning closer.
"You study people a lot," she whispered.
"Only the ones who matter."
Her fingers grazed the edge of his notebook.
Then closer.
Then touched his.
"I don't usually let guys get this close," she said.
"I'm not most guys," he replied, voice low. "And you're not looking for average anymore."
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was electric.
He could lean in. He could kiss her. Right now.
But tension held is tension multiplied.
He leaned back instead.
"Let's finish the chapter," he said, calm but loaded.
She looked stunned for half a second.
Then she smiled.
A real one.
Not cute. Not polite.
Interested.
---
12:44 a.m.
They walked out side by side. She hugged her books to her chest. He carried nothing—hands free, ready for any shift in moment.
At the parking lot, she paused.
"This was... good," she said.
He stepped closer.
"You've got that look," she teased.
"What look?"
"Like you're brainstorming about something."
He leaned in slightly, just enough.
"I always am."
Her breath caught. She didn't move away.
"Goodnight, Ethan," she whispered.
"Not yet," he said. "But soon."
She laughed, shook her head, and walked away without looking back.
But her shoulders were tighter. Her steps slower.
And Ethan?
He watched the future unfold with a smirk.
One chapter in. She's already hooked.
/
/
(Mind me if you want but I'll tease you guys 🙂↔️...)