Rhea walked fast.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.
Her heels echoed sharply as she turned the corner.
"Patterns," she scoffed quietly. "Academic curiosity. Yeah, right."
She pushed open a window at the end of the corridor, breathing in cold air like it might cool the heat under her skin.
"She wasn't even subtle," Rhea murmured to herself. "Not even pretending."
A group of juniors passed. One whispered, "That was about—"
Rhea shot them a look sharp enough to cut.
They shut up instantly.
Rhea leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest.
"Of course she's interested," she muttered. "Of course."
Her fingers tapped restlessly against her arm.
"As if I don't have enough already," she whispered, irritation bleeding into something uglier. "As if that wasn't enough."
She exhaled hard.
"Academic," she repeated under her breath, mocking. "Sure."
Her jaw tightened again.
Rhea straightened, adjusted her bag, and pushed off the wall.
"I don't care," she told herself firmly. "I really don't."
She took two steps.
Then muttered, quieter, more honest,"…I do."
She walked away down the corridor, irritation sharp, jealousy simmering, already replaying Marley's tone, her questions, her eyes—hating herself for noticing any of it at all.
Ling walked through the corridor with a stack of files pressed against her chest, glasses low on her nose, attention half on the pages, half on the echo of footsteps around her. She was reviewing applications, margins already marked in her precise handwriting. Her pace was steady. Controlled.
Rhea came from the opposite end.
Fast. Head down. Bag slung wrong on her shoulder. Arms moving sharply with every step, irritation rolling off her like heat.
She muttered under her breath, words broken and angry.
"Unbelievable… seriously unbelievable…"
She didn't look up.
Ling looked up too late.
They collided.
The files slipped instantly, pages sliding against each other with a sharp sound. Rhea's foot caught on the edge of a fallen paper. Her balance went.
"—Shit—"
Her body tilted forward.
Ling reacted without thinking.
Her hand shot out, fingers closing hard around Rhea's waist, pulling her back before gravity finished the job. The motion was abrupt, forceful, instinctive.
Rhea gasped.
Her palms slapped flat against Ling's chest to steady herself.
They stopped moving.
Too close.
Rhea's breath hitched, warm against Ling's collarbone. Ling froze mid-motion, grip still firm at Rhea's waist, thumb digging in slightly through fabric.
Their faces were inches apart.
Close enough that Ling could see the tightness in Rhea's jaw.
Close enough that Rhea could see Ling's pupils dilate before she masked it.
Neither spoke.
A paper slid to the floor between them.
Ling's voice came first. Low. Sharp.
"Watch where you're—"
She stopped.
Rhea looked up then.
Her eyes widened just a fraction before hardening instantly.
"You," Rhea snapped, pushing against Ling's chest—but not hard enough to break free. "Let go."
Ling didn't move.
Her grip tightened reflexively instead, as if the idea of releasing Rhea before she was fully steady didn't register.
"You almost fell," Ling said flatly.
"I don't care," Rhea shot back. "I said—let go."
Ling's jaw flexed.
Slowly, deliberately, she loosened her hold—but her hand stayed at Rhea's waist a second longer than necessary, ensuring her balance.
Rhea stepped back sharply the moment she was free.
Her face was flushed—anger, not embarrassment. At least that's what she told herself.
"Can't you look where you're going?" she snapped.
Ling looked down at the scattered papers, then back at Rhea.
"You ran into me," Ling said calmly.
Rhea laughed, sharp and humorless. "Of course you'd say that."
Ling crouched to pick up the files, movements controlled despite the tension humming under her skin. Rhea stood there, fists clenched, chest rising too fast.
As Ling straightened, she spoke without looking directly at Rhea.
"Are you done throwing yourself at walls today, or should I expect more accidents?"
Rhea's eyes flashed.
"Don't talk to me like you know me," she said. "Especially today."
Ling finally met her gaze.
"Today?" she repeated quietly.
Rhea bit back whatever was about to spill out. Her jaw worked. She looked away first.
"Just—" Rhea gestured vaguely. "Move."
Ling stepped aside without argument.
As Rhea passed, she muttered, barely audible but sharp enough to cut,
"Try not to collect people the way you collect attention."
Ling went still.
Rhea didn't look back.
She walked away fast, anger stiffening her spine, heart pounding too hard for a simple collision—while behind her, Ling stood frozen in the corridor, papers clutched too tightly, already replaying the way Rhea's body had fit instinctively into her hold.
Rhea dropped into a chair near the window, bag sliding off her shoulder as she exhaled sharply. The café was loud enough to blur thoughts—cups clinking, low music, laughter. She wanted noise. She wanted distraction.
She didn't get peace.
"Hey," a familiar voice said.
Rhea didn't look up at first. She already knew.
The boy from the party stood there with two coffees in his hands, smiling like confidence was something you could rehearse.
"You again," Rhea muttered.
He laughed lightly, unfazed. "I was hoping."
She rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't."
"Can I sit?" he asked anyway.
She hesitated, irritated—and then shrugged. "Do whatever."
He sat.
Rhea stared out the window, jaw tight.
"So," he said, leaning back casually, "you disappeared last time. Didn't even say goodbye."
"I wasn't aware I owed you one," Rhea replied flatly.
He smiled wider. "Still sharp. I like that."
"I don't," she snapped.
He leaned in a little. "You always like this, or am I special?"
Rhea shot him a look. "You're persistent. I'll give you that."
"That's a yes," he said, amused.
She scoffed. "That's not what that means."
He kept talking anyway. Compliments. Jokes. Attempts that didn't land. Rhea answered with clipped replies, irritation crawling under her skin.
Then—
She saw her.
Through the glass.