The classroom slowly emptied, laughter and footsteps echoing down the hall. An Ran sat frozen, clutching the edge of her desk. She had rehearsed the words in her head all afternoon, but now that she had the chance, her palms dampened, and her throat tightened.
Her eyes flicked to Qin Mo. He was still there, moving lazily, as if the weight of the day didn't matter to him at all. His long fingers toyed with a pen before he dropped it carelessly into his bag.
Should I really ask him?
Her chest ached faintly. She thought of the whispers earlier, classmates bragging about their parents' connections, fathers in high positions, mothers with influence. Then her own mother flashed in her mind: smiling on the surface, always chasing fleeting pleasures, never serious enough to ask about her daughter's grades, her future, her dreams.
If she couldn't lean on her family… then she had no choice but to lean on herself.
An Ran gripped her books tightly and forced herself to stand.
"Qin Mo…" Her voice almost cracked, so soft she wasn't sure he heard. He looked up briefly, golden-brown eyes distant, then back to his bag.
She swallowed hard. "Do you want to go to the library with me? Just for a little while. We could… study together."
For a moment, silence hung between them. His hand stilled on the zipper of his bag. She could feel her heart thundering, like she had just done something reckless.
Then, without a word, he stood. He slung the bag lazily over his shoulder, gave her the briefest of glances, more like an acknowledgement than an answer, and walked toward the door.
An Ran blinked, stunned. Does that mean… yes?
Her lips parted slightly, a small rush of relief and confusion flooding her at the same time. Hugging her books close, she hurried after him.The library was quieter than she'd hoped, only a handful of students scattered between the rows of bookshelves. Sunlight spilled in through tall windows, striping the tables in soft gold.
An Ran sat down, her palms sweating, and looked across at him. Qin Mo Ran slouched into the chair opposite, pulling the hood of his jacket low. His eyes found hers, flat and unreadable, as if to say: Well, I'm here. Now what?
Her cheeks flared hot. She ducked her head and fumbled with her textbooks. "Um… I saw your library card earlier. Business management, right? Let's just… revise with this." She slid a comprehension sheet across to him, keeping one for herself.
She bent to her page, pen moving quickly, her heart thudding in her ears. When she glanced up, he pushed his own notes toward her.
Her stomach twisted. Half-done answers, stray lines, and careless doodles sprawled across the paper.
"Um…" She swallowed, searching for the gentlest words. "Can you not do it? Or… were you never taught properly?"
His eyes met hers, dark and unmoving. "No."
The word landed heavy, final. His voice was low and raspy, sending an odd shiver through her.
She blinked, then tried again. "Did you… miss a grade?"
"No."
"Then… were you taught this one?" She tapped the question at the top of the sheet.
He hesitated. "…I'm not sure."
An Ran pressed her lips together. The distance between them felt like a wall she couldn't scale. Yet, watching him sink deeper into the chair as if waiting for her to give up, something inside her steadied instead.
Even if she never chose business as her major, even if he answered with nothing but "no" and "not sure," she wasn't going to let it end here.
"Alright," she said softly, determination in her eyes. "Then we'll start simple. I'll help you." She straightened. "We'll start simple. Forget the rest for now."
She pointed to one of the trade and transaction problems she remembered from her earlier schooling—buying price, selling price, profit margin. "Look. If the shopkeeper buys for this amount, but sells here, how do you calculate the profit?"
For the first time, he leaned forward slightly, scanning the numbers. His pen tapped against the paper, once. "This." He circled the answer with an almost lazy hand.
An Ran blinked. Correct.
Her chest lightened, relief trickling in. "See? You can do it. Try this one."
Another question. Another slow response. "Hmm." He checked his work with a sound that was neither agreement nor doubt—just a hum that made her realize he was following.
"True." His eyes flicked up once, catching hers, then away.
She stifled a smile. He wasn't careless. He was smart. Just unwilling.
Bit by bit, they went through the problems. She asked. He answered with clipped words. His laziness never lifted, but the sharpness beneath it became harder to miss.
By the time the sun shifted, painting the room orange, An Ran's own sheet was still blank. She sighed inwardly. I'll just study mine at home. This is more important.
She dug into her bag, hesitated, then pulled out a small packet. "Um… here." She pushed the snack toward him, not meeting his eyes.
He glanced down at it. Didn't move.
Her cheeks burned. "It's just… you've been working. You should eat something."
Slowly, he tore it open, wordless. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but when he ate a piece, she felt oddly satisfied.
They packed up when the bell signaled closing hours. As they stepped out of the library, the corridors buzzed faintly with students heading home.
An Ran clutched her bag, heart pounding. Should I…?
She forced herself to speak. "Um… your number. If I find more practice sheets, I can… send them to you."
For a second, she thought he wouldn't answer. Then, without looking at her, he muttered the digits, his tone as indifferent as if he were reciting a page number.
She typed them in quickly, clutching her phone like it was something fragile. "Thanks. I'll… I'll send you the worksheets later."
He didn't respond, but the fact that he hadn't refused at all felt like a victory.
As they parted ways at the school gate, An Ran let herself smile just a little. For the first time, she didn't feel like she was reaching into a void.