The hall was packed, humming with anticipation. Debate days always drew a crowd—students loved watching their peers spar as much as they loved to pick apart arguments themselves. Azraa adjusted her blazer, smoothed her notes and reminded herself to breathe.
This wasn't just another debate. It was him.
Across the room, Xavier Sinclair stood in easy conversation with two classmates, his posture relaxed, his laughter carrying over the noise. He hadn't even glanced her way. That was fine. Better, even.
"Girl, focus," Miranda whispered, nudging Azraa's elbow. Her closest friend on campus. Miranda knew the rivalry better than anyone.
"Don't let him get under your skin."
Azraa forced a smile." He won't."
But the truth was, he already did.
Professor Millton's voice cut through the noise. "Good day everyone, welcome to the annual Brownhill University philosophical debate." He began. "I see you are all ready for today's debators, two of our finests students will be going head to head. So let's introduce them."
" Our first debator is Azraa Whitehouse, a round of applause please." Azraa got up and gave the crowd a small smile and a nod.
" Our second debator is Xavier Sinclair." The whole room errupted into a loud cheer, with Xavier giving the crowd a wink and a smile. His gaze turned over to Azraa and gave her a smirk.
"Today's topic," Professor Millton began. " Is morality absolute or relative? Azraa Whitehouse will open the floor for the affirmative and Xavier Sinclair for the opposition. You know the rules. Let's begin."
The room quieter. Azraa rose, every inch of her body humming with purpose. She liked this part—the stillness before the storm.
"Morality is absolute," she began, her voice steady. " It does not shift with convenience or culture. To suggest otherwise is to excuse injustice. What is wrong remains wrong regardless of circumstance."
She laid out her points with precision, drawing nods from the front row. When she finished, she sat. Pulse racing.
Xavier stood.
And suddenly the air shifted.
"Morality," he said, voice smooth and deliberate. "Is not a universal law. It is shaped by time, by place and by lived experience. What one society condems, another celebrates. To ignore this is to ignore society its self."
He paced slowly, not a note in sight, speaking as if words belonged to him. Azraa clenched her pen. Too smooth. Too practiced. Too him.
When the rebuttal came, she was prepared. She rose again, fire in her tone. "If morality is relative, then nothing can ever truly be condemned. Murder, corruption, exploitation, they can all be excused under the guise of cultural difference. That's not morality, that's chaos."
Her words drew murmurs of approval. She felt the momentum shifting her way—until Xavier leaned forward, locking eyes with her across the table.
"What she calls chaos," his said quietly, almost intimately. "I call freedom."
Silence. Azraa's pulse skipped.
He went on dismantling one of her key points with logic, his voice never rising, his expression unreadable. By the time he sat down, half the hall was whispering.
The debate ended in a near draw. The Professor praising both sides for their passion and clarity. But Azraa could see it in the smirk tugging at Xavier's lips as they packed their things, he thought he'd won.
As the crowd dispersed, Miranda leaned in closer. "You know, the way you two argue—it's kind of...." She trailed off, grinning.
" What?" Azraa snapped, stuffing her books into her bag.
" Kinda like foreplay."
Azraa nearly choked. "Excuse me?"
Miranda laughed. " I'm just saying the tension, it's not academic."
"Please," Azraa rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. "He's insufferable."
" Mm-hmm, insufferable with nice shoulders."
Azraa swatted her friend's arm but the image lingered. Xavier leaning forward, eyes burning into hers. His voice low enough to feel like it was meant for her alone.
She shook the thought away. He was her rival nothing more. And she would prove it—next time, she'd beat him without leaving room for doubt.
Except deep down, she already knew it wasn't about winning anymore. Not really.
Professor Cleaver announced the mid-semester project with the ease of someone dropping a bomb. Pair work. Essays co-authored, arguments sharpened by collaboration.
Names were read out loud, partners chosen at random.
"Azraa Whitehouse and Xavier Sinclair."
Her worst nightmare had happened
The room errupted in whispers, Azraa's stomach dropped.
Xavier leaned back in a chair, smiling. "I guess the universe wants us together."
She glared. "Apparently, the Universe has a sick sense of humor."
A joint paper. Twenty pages, due in three weeks. This had to be some kind of punishment.
"You look pale," Xavier's voice drew her out of her thoughts. " Don't tell me you're scared to work with me."
She glared at him. " I'm not scared, just disappointed."
Xavier laughed wholeheartedly. " Ouch. And here I thought this would be the highlight of your semester."
The Professor clapped his hands to get the hall's attention. "This project counts for thirty percent of your grades. Collaboration isn't optional. I expect both names on the final essay."
Collaboration with Xavier. For weeks.
Azraa pressed her lips into a thin line, already plotting how to keep him from ruining everything. She liked control. He liked chaos. This was going to be torture.
The hall was still buzzing with noise, when she turned to him, arms folded firmly across her chest. "Ground rules," she started. " we meet in the library, no lateness. We split the workload, fifty-fifty and absolutely no—"
"No fun?" He interrupted, a grin tugging at his lips.
She rolled her eyes. " No distractions."
" Define distraction."
" You."
It made him laugh—loud enough, that a few nearby students turned to stare. Azraa cheeks started to burn, Xavier only leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"You are going to love working with me. You just don't know it yet."
Azraa should have snapped back. She should have told him to shut up. Instead to her horror, she felt the faintest smile threatening to escape.
And that terrified her more than the project itself.
After class, they stiffly sat at a corner table at the library, it smelled of old books and rain which made Azraa comfortable and restless at the same time. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her laptop open. Azraa typed furiously while Xavier leaned in, reading over her shoulder.
"You're starting with kant, bold." He said
" Bold but correct."
He grinned. " We'll see."
Hours stretched, filled with bickering and reluctant compromises. Yet beneath the irritation, something else simmered— a strange rhythm forming in the way their ideas collided and sparked.
They were rivals, yes. But they made each other sharper. Azraa wasn't sure whether that thrilled or terrified her.