Mondays at Brownhill University were always busy. It was the same everytime, the rushing of feet, the chattering of students and the voices of professors echoing through the lecture halls. Azraa loved every bit of it, she was always prepared, ready to take on the day and her classes, like her future depended on it—because it did.
Azraa had always imagined herself at Brownhill University, so when she was awarded a scholarship, she was elated. Her dreams had finally come true—part of it at least—she could only imagine the look on her mother's if she was still here.
She removed the thought from her mind as she rushed through the busy halls, determined to get to class in time, she'd been here almost a year, but everyday felt new. New topics. New friends. New foes.
Speaking of foes, there he was leaning against the wall, with his backpack over one shoulder, laughing, relaxed—too relaxed, like he didn't have a class in thirty minutes. He winked at her as their eyes met, she tried to ignore the warmth growing on her cheeks.
She gave him a look of indifference, while stomping off to the lecture hall. He wasn't going to ruin her day, she wouldn't let him.
The lecture hall smelled faintly of dust, old wood and too many students crammed into one space. Azraa Whitehouse slid into her seat near the middle row, the one with just enough distance from the front to avoid looking like a teacher's pet, but close enough to catch every word. She dropped her bag with a soft thud, brought out her her pen and forced herself to focus.
She didn't come here for distractions, she had a goal and she was going to achieve it.
But distractions came anyway—wearing a pressed shirt and a smirk, that made her want to roll her eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Philosopher" Xavier Sinclair's voice drawled as he took the empty seat beside her, like he owned it, he didn't ask, he just sat.
Azraa stiffened. Of all the rows of seats in this hall, he had to pick this one? Again?
"Don't you have your own seat?" She muttered, flipping her book open.
"This is my seat" he said smoothly stretching his long legs as though testing how far into her space he could invade. "I like the view from here."
"The board?" She asked, arching an eyebrow.
His lips curved. "No, the competition."
Heat pricked at the back of Azraa's neck. She refused to give him the satisfaction of blushing. Instead, she scribbled a date at the top of a page, pressing her pen hard enough to nearly tear the page.
For weeks it had been the same routine, wherever she sat, Xavier appeared. At first she thought it was a coincidence, then persistence. Now, she was sure it was warfare.
Their rivalry wasn't new. From their first debate in class—her sharp rebuttal cutting through the air, his calm counter that turned the room into his favor—they had been magnets, pulling in the opposite direction. Azraa hated how much people listened when he spoke. She hated the lazy confidence in his smile, they way he tossed out arguments like they cost him nothing.
She hated, most of all, how much she thought about it after class ended
The professor's voice broke through her thoughts, calling the class to order. Azraa straightened, thankful for the interruption.
"Today" Professor Cleaver began, "we'll be discussing Plato's Allegory of the Cave. Who can explain its relevance to contemporary society?"
Before Azraa could even raise her hand, Xavier's voice rang out. "It's about perception. About people being too comfortable with shadows, instead of seeking truth. Still very relevant."
Azraa's jaw tightened. Typical. Always first. Always smooth.
"An excellent start." The professor nodded. "Any counterpoints?"
Azraa's hand shot up. "It's not just about perception," She said firmly, when called upon. "It's about responsibility. Plato's point wasn't only that people live in shadows, it's that those who escape owe it to others to bring them into the light. So in today's society, it's not about seeing the truth, it's about acting on it. That's what matters."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Azraa felt a little thrill, then out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Xavier's lips twitch.
"Valid point." He said leaning back into his chair. "If others don't want to leave the cave, forcing them out isn't noble, it's arrogant. Sometimes truth is subjective."
Her head snapped towards him. "Truth isn't subjective." She shot back in a low hiss.
He met her gaze, steady and unbothered. "Everything is, depending on the cave you're in."
"Now, that's the power of Plato." Professor Cleaver noted while turning around to scribble on the board.
The lecture continued around them, but Azraa barely heard it. Her pulse quickened, not from anger—well, not just anger—but from the infuriating way he looked at her, like this was all a game and she was his favorite opponent.
When the bell finally rang and students began packing up, Azraa shoved her books into her bag with unnecessary force.
Xavier of course, moved at snail's speed. "You get so worked up" he remarked lightly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder." It's almost endearing."
" Endearing" she glared." Try annoying."
He grinned, the sight was unfairly distracting. "You'll come around."
"Don't count on it."
As she swept past him towards the exit, she told herself she meant it. That Xavier Sinclair was nothing but trouble wrapped in charm.
So why did her heart beat faster when his laughter followed her out of the hall.