The morning sun spilled through the cabin windows, painting the wooden floor in golden stripes. I stirred awake to the muffled sounds of Damian and Luke arguing over who had packed what, their voices carrying easily through the thin walls.
For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling, my heart thudding with memories of the night before.
Adrian's gaze holding mine.
The words he'd spoken...about letting someone in.
The way I'd leaned close, whispered something I could never say out loud, and felt my cheeks burn with the nearness of him.
It had been a game. That was what everyone said, what Damian laughed and Emily brushed off with a smile. But lying there in the quiet, it felt like so much more.
I finally rose, tugging on a hoodie before padding out into the living room. Emily was curled on the couch, scrolling her phone. She looked up instantly, her expression telling me she hadn't forgotten either.
"Morning," she said softly.
"Morning."
Her eyes flicked toward the hallway where Adrian's door was still closed, then back to me. "Last night got… interesting."
I pulled my hoodie tighter. "It was just a game."
Emily smiled knowingly. "If you say so."
By the time Adrian emerged, hair damp from a shower, mug of coffee in hand, I was sitting at the table pretending to read a book I wasn't actually absorbing. He glanced briefly in my direction just a flicker of his eyes before settling into a chair across from Damian, who was rattling on about how the weekend had been the "best idea ever."
Our gazes didn't meet again, but the silence between us spoke louder than words.
We left the cabin by midmorning. The ride back was filled with music, Luke's bad singing, and Emily's laughter. Adrian and I shared the backseat again. This time, no one teased us, though I caught Damian's smirk in the rearview mirror more than once.
The journey ended, but the memory of that weekend did not.
Back at school, life resumed its rhythm. Lecture halls, labs, crowded cafeterias, the constant buzz of students moving from one class to another. But beneath the surface of normalcy, something had shifted.
It was in the way Adrian nodded at me when we passed each other in the biology building, a quiet acknowledgment that hadn't been there before. It was in the way Emily nudged me whenever his name came up, her teasing soft but insistent.
And it was in the way my thoughts lingered far too long on him when they should have been on cell structures or lab reports.
I told myself not to read into it. He hadn't given me any reason to believe he saw me differently. And yet… the memory of his eyes on mine, steady and unflinching, refused to fade.
Our project meeting was scheduled for a Wednesday afternoon, tucked between lectures. I arrived at the library early, my bag heavy with notes and books. The room smelled faintly of old paper and polished wood, the sunlight filtering through high windows.
I set my things down, flipping open my notebook, trying to focus.
A few minutes later, he walked in.
Adrian.
He carried his usual calm with him, a quiet presence that filled the space without effort. He set his bag down opposite me, pulled out a pen, and without a word, opened his notes.
For a while, the only sounds were the scratch of pens and the shuffle of papers. My heartbeat, though, was anything but quiet.
Finally, he looked up. "So. Where do you want to start?"
His voice was steady, businesslike, but there was something in the way he asked not detached, not cold. Just… present.
I swallowed. "Maybe with the introduction. We can outline the main sections, then divide who works on what."
He nodded once. "Fine."
We settled into rhythm, trading ideas, noting references, sketching out plans. It felt surprisingly natural, even with the silence that stretched between our words.
At one point, I looked up to find him already watching me. He didn't look away immediately. Just long enough for something to twist inside me before his gaze returned to the page.
I forced myself to keep writing, though my hand trembled slightly.
We finished the outline after nearly an hour, the table scattered with papers. He leaned back slightly, stretching his shoulders. "That's enough for today."
"Yeah," I said, closing my notebook. My voice sounded too soft, too shaky.
We packed up in silence, but the air between us wasn't empty. It was charged.
As we left the library side by side, our arms brushed briefly. Neither of us spoke about it. But I carried the spark of it with me long after.