Ayla
The history department always smelled like chalk and dust, like the building is older than the rest of Stanton College combined.
Befitting for the "history" department. Get it?
I slipped inside the classroom before the bell rang, glad for a few seconds of quiet before the room filled up.
Debbie, a friend from my history class, waved me over from the middle row. It was a strategic spot, close enough to seem attentive but not close enough to become a target. I slid into the seat beside her.
"You look tired." She whispered, her blonde curls bouncing around.
"Didn't sleep much," I said. "Had to come up with a project topic."
"Oh my God, I can totally relate," she gushed, showing off her perfectly manicured nails. "It was so hard for me to finally decide on my project topic."
"Really? I'm glad I'm not the only one stressed out."
"Yeah! And this is just the project topic, we haven't even started the main project. I can't believe this is gonna be 45% of my CA," she chimed, reapplying her lip Cherry bombshell lipgloss.
"Ughhh. That makes it worse," I groaned.
"Totally. Meaning you can't do a half assed project," she pouted, with an eye roll.
"Ahem."
Debbie and I looked up to see Professor Lane standing in front of the blackboard. I didn't even notice that he'd entered the class. Our professor didn't need to raise his voice to control a room. He had that calm, sharp presence that made people straighten automatically. He set down his briefcase with quiet precision.
"Good morning," he said.
We responded in a scattered chorus. He didn't smile. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scanned the class.
"Before we begin. Today is the last day for the project topic submission. If you haven't already turned in your topic, you'll be doing so today…orally."
There were murmurs heard from every side of the classroom.
Debbie muttered, "He's evil."
"He can hear you," I whispered.
"But it's a fact."
I reached into my bag and touched the folded paper with my chosen topic. My palms were already sweating. I had no idea why I felt so drawn to a subject I barely understood – but last night it felt so necessary, like something in me insisted on it.
Professor Lane started calling names.
"Frank Brendon?"
"The American Civil War, sir."
"Kendra Smith?"
"The History of Space Exploration, sir."
"Deborah Halson?"
I watched Debbie stand up, her accessories complemented her pink crop top and denim skirt.
"The Evolution of Women's Rights..." she said "..sir."
I tried to steady my breathing as the list got shorter. I kept repeating my project topic in my head.
Then, the door opened.
Every head turned.
A boy walked in, holding a folder. He had dark hair and a calm expression that made him seem unfazed by the attention. He walked straight to the front and handed the folded to Professor Lane.
"Your name?" the professor asked.
"Adrian. Adrian Manches. Transfer student." His voice was low and unruffled. "These are my documents."
The class remained quiet as the lecturer flipped through the papers. After a moment, he nodded.
"This is Adrian," he said to us. "He joined us yesterday, though he didn't attend."
"I had something unavoidable to deal with," Adrian stated, with a shrug.
Professor Lane sighed. "Take a seat. We're reviewing project topics. You'll pair up with someone since you missed the assignment briefing."
Adrian nodded, glanced around the room and chose a seat at the far end of the class. For a moment, his eyes fell on mine.
Hazel. He had hazel eyes.
I looked away, pretending to fix my notes.
"Knew it," Debbie whispered. "He's cute."
I ignored her.
Professor Lane cleared his throat and continued calling names. My heartbeat drummed louder with each one. Then he said:
"Ayla Monsoe."
I stood, forcing air out of my lungs.
"My topic," I read, "is Gang Violence and its impact on the society. It is an analysis of gang-related conflicts during the early years of the city's underground network, focusing on how those conflicts affected security and political structure."
Some students stared. Debbie grinned.
Mr. Lane studied me for a few seconds.
"Ambitious. Make sure you're ready for intensive research."
"I will," I said.
I sat down, hands slightly shaking.
Then he addressed the room. "Now, since Mr. Manches is joining us late, he will need a partner. Someone with a solid understanding of the project."
My stomach dropped.
No, no-
"Ayla," he said. "You'll pair up with Adrian."
Debbie grabbed my arm under the desk, her excitement practically vibrating through her fingers. I tried not to stare across the room, but curiosity tugged at me.
And then Adrian looked up.
It wasn't accidental. It wasn't a passing glance. His eyes locked onto mine with calm intent, like he was assessing something or trying to figure me out. And for the first time in a while, I felt little and helpless like I was 13 again.
I held his gaze this time.
The room felt strangely quiet for a second, even though students were arranging their textbooks and scraping chair. The noise faded behind the steady weight of that look.
He didn't smile.
Neither did I.
But neither of us looked away.
At least, not until Debbie pinched me.
"Girl, you're so lucky." She grumbled as her nails dug into my skin.
"Ouch. And how exactly am I lucky?" I said swatting her fingers away.
"Umm hello?? You get to do your project with the cute, hot AND mysterious transfer student." She sighed.
"Oh please, what if he's completely useless and does absolutely nothing in the course of our partnership?" I asked.
"Doesn't matter. At least you have an excuse to talk to him."
I just stared at her.
Like gurl, is that all you think about? Ugh.
Mr. Lane clapped his hands lightly. "Now, let's continue with the introduction to your next module-"
But I'm not listening.
Why'd I have to get paired up?
I was looking forward, a bit, to doing the project. But not with someone else! Especially not some mysterious guy who came from God-knows-where. Debbie didn't get that. All she talked about was how hot he was.
I mean, what if he's one of those guys that lets the girl do all the work and takes credit in the end.
My head dropped to the table. I wasn't ready for any of that. My head stayed down till Professor Lane dismissed the class. Chairs clattered. Debbie started whispering about fate and project partners and every romantic trope possible, but her voice barely registered.
When I finally got up to leave, I sensed – rather than saw – a pair of eyes staring at the back of my head.