Sam's POV
If someone had told me a week ago that I'd be working on an inter-class project with Liam Fernandez, I would've laughed, choked, or both. Yet here I was—sitting in the middle of Class E's buzzing chaos, clutching a file labeled Unity in Diversity: Presentation Draft, while my stomach twisted into about seventeen anxious knots.
"Okay, team," Zoe said cheerfully, clapping her hands like a motivational speaker who'd had too much coffee. "We've officially been assigned as the face of our class! Isn't that exciting?"
Across the table, Liam looked up from his notes, unimpressed. "Exciting wouldn't be my word of choice."
"Of course not," I muttered under my breath, pretending to read the outline.
"What was that, Rivera?" he asked, tone casual but eyes sharp.
"Nothing," I said quickly, giving him a tight smile. "Just appreciating your enthusiasm."
Zoe's eyes darted between us, lips twitching. "You two are so gonna kill each other before this project ends."
"I wouldn't say kill," Liam said, flipping a page. "Just… mild suffering."
I stared at him. "Wow, you're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"
Zoe grinned. "See? We're already bonding!"
I groaned, dropping my head onto the table. "You have a very strange definition of bonding."
It had been a week since Zoe somehow convinced Liam and me to stop pretending the other didn't exist. The "alliance," as she called it, was fragile—like a bridge built out of paper and stubbornness—but it was there. And surprisingly, it hadn't fallen apart. Yet.
"Okay, focus!" Zoe said, waving the outline. "Our presentation is next Friday. We have to create a visual display and a short play or skit about cultural unity. Sam, you're handling the script. Liam, props and visuals. I'll manage coordination."
I blinked. "Wait—why do I get the script? You've literally read my handwriting."
"That's why!" Zoe said brightly. "You're the only one whose messy thoughts make sense on paper."
Liam snorted. "That's debatable."
"Keep talking, Fernandez," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Maybe I'll write your character out entirely."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, smirking. "You can't. I'm the props guy. You'd have a blank stage without me."
"Don't tempt me."
Zoe clapped her hands again. "See? Perfect chemistry."
"Or combustion," I muttered.
But Zoe was right about one thing—our dynamic had changed. The tension was still there, sure, but it wasn't sharp anymore. It was something… charged. Real. Like the world had decided we needed to learn how to tolerate each other before fate threw something worse our way.
The bell rang, cutting our discussion short. Students started filing out, chattering about other projects. Zoe packed up her things with a sigh. "Let's continue this after class, okay? There's a café near the old library—'Bean & Leaf.' We can work there."
I frowned. "You sure about that? That place gets crowded."
"Exactly!" Zoe said. "Crowded means snacks, and snacks mean motivation."
I smiled faintly. "Fine. But if we fail this project, I'm blaming the caffeine."
Liam stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll bring the productivity."
"Bring an attitude adjustment while you're at it," I muttered, earning a smirk from him.
Zoe giggled. "Oh, this is gonna be so fun."
By the time we reached the café, the afternoon sun had mellowed into a honey-gold glow. Bean & Leaf was buzzing with students, the air filled with chatter and the faint hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon hung thick in the air—warm, comforting.
We found a corner table by the window. I slid into the seat across from Liam, who was already setting down his sketchpad. Zoe plopped between us, as if she could physically stop the snark from flying.
"So," Zoe said, pulling out her notebook, "we're combining art, acting, and storytelling. Sam, any ideas for the script?"
I nodded slowly. "I was thinking something simple—like three students from different backgrounds who have to work together despite their differences."
"That's… literally us," Liam said, raising a brow.
"Exactly," I said, smirking. "Authenticity."
He leaned forward. "So who gets to be the jerk in the story?"
"Take a wild guess."
Zoe snorted, nearly choking on her drink. "Okay, okay—no typecasting, please."
I tried to focus on the words in my notebook, but the more I wrote, the more I caught Liam watching me. Not in the smug, teasing way he usually did—this was quieter. Thoughtful. Like he was trying to figure me out without asking questions.
After a while, Zoe excused herself to grab another drink, leaving us alone.
The silence between us wasn't hostile. Just… heavy.
"So," Liam said after a moment, "you always write like that?"
I looked up. "Like what?"
"Like the words are pulling you somewhere else."
I hesitated, pen hovering midair. "Maybe they are."
He studied me for a second, then nodded. "You're good at it."
The compliment caught me off guard. "Thanks… I guess."
"You guess?"
"I'm not used to hearing that from you."
He cracked a faint smile. "I can be nice. Occasionally."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
We both laughed, the tension melting just a little.
Then Zoe returned with drinks, plopping them down dramatically. "Okay, caffeine refueled! Where were we?"
"Liam was being nice," I said.
Zoe gasped. "No way. I missed a miracle?"
Liam rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee. "You two are impossible."
I grinned. "You love it."
He didn't answer—but the faint smirk that tugged at his lips said enough.
Liam's POV
I wasn't supposed to enjoy this.
Sitting in a café, arguing about script lines and prop colors with Sam Rivera and Zoe Thompson wasn't exactly on my bingo card for the year. But here I was—half amused, half confused by how natural it all felt.
Maybe it was the coffee. Or the way sunlight kept catching in Sam's hair whenever she leaned over her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn't notice how often she bit her lip when she was thinking, or how her pen tapped a rhythm that somehow synced with the music playing in the café.
She was… different. Still quiet, still guarded, but there was warmth there too. A spark that slipped through her sarcasm.
"So, for the background," I said, sketching quickly, "we can use a collage of traditional patterns—textile prints, flags, maybe something hand-painted."
Sam leaned closer to look. "That's actually… really good."
I smirked. "Surprised?"
"A little."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
Zoe, who'd been scrolling through reference photos, piped up. "You two should've been assigned as art partners from day one."
Sam laughed softly. "That would've been a disaster."
"Or fate," Zoe said dramatically, sipping her frappe.
I glanced at Sam. "You believe in that?"
"In fate?" She shrugged. "I don't know. It feels like an excuse people use when they don't understand why things happen."
"Maybe," I said, tracing another line on the paper. "Or maybe it's the universe forcing people to face things they're running from."
Her gaze flickered toward me then—brief, searching. "That sounds personal."
"Maybe it is."
We didn't say anything after that. But something in the air shifted—a quiet understanding neither of us could name.
When Zoe got up to answer a call, the silence returned, thick but not uncomfortable. I looked at Sam again, her fingers drumming softly on the table.
"You know," I said, "you're not as hard to talk to as I thought."
She looked up, a faint smile on her lips. "Careful, Fernandez. That almost sounded like a compliment."
"I said almost."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," I said, leaning back in my chair. "But you didn't walk away this time."
Her smile faltered—just slightly—but she didn't look away. "Maybe I'm learning."
Something about the way she said that made my chest tighten. There was history in her tone—pain, guilt, something she still carried but didn't talk about. And I didn't push her. Not tonight.
When Zoe returned, we picked up the project again, arguing over paper colors and font sizes like normal students. But underneath the laughter, something fragile had started to grow. A thread of trust, thin but real.
Author's POV
The evening light spilled softly through the café window, painting their table in gold. Around them, voices blended with the hum of music and the clinking of cups, but within that little corner of Bean & Leaf, the world felt still.
Sam scribbled another line in her notebook; Liam traced color swatches for the props. Zoe leaned against her chair, watching them with a quiet smile.
Maybe this was what friendship was supposed to feel like—messy, unpredictable, but somehow… right.
As the day faded into night, the project began to take shape. So did something else. Something quieter. Stronger.
Three people—once strangers, now bound by words, laughter, and a growing sense of belonging neither of them expected.
And though none of them said it out loud, they all felt it.
The start of something that could either heal—or break—them.