"Who in the world is calling this late?" I muttered to myself, squinting at the glowing screen.
The caller ID flashed Unknown Number. My heart skipped a beat.
With a hesitant swipe, I answered.
"Hello?" My voice came out hoarse, still tangled in the fog of sleep.
"Hey."
That deep, smooth voice floated through the line—Slavvy.
My breath caught. Why was he calling?
"Slavvy?" I croaked, half-asleep.
"Did I wake you?" His tone carried that same quiet pull—velvet smooth, intoxicating, and dangerous.
Was he… trying to tempt me?
"No, I was about to sleep," he replied, voice low and teasing.
"Mmm… almost thought you gave me the wrong number," he said, amusement threading through his words.
I could almost hear the smirk on his lips.
What was happening?
Why was I talking to him?
I'd known him for barely two days, and yet it felt as if we'd already lived a thousand moments together.
"Mmm," he hummed softly, a sound that brushed over my nerves like silk.
"But I better sleep," I said with a small laugh, trying to sound casual. "I'm really tired."
"What were you doing all this time instead of sleeping?" His curiosity slipped through easily, the question warm but probing.
"I… I was reading the Bible," I admitted, a spark of pride lighting my chest.
"Church girl, huh?" His voice held a note of playful excitement.
"God's favorite," I giggled, the sound lighter than I expected.
"I see." He chuckled softly. Then, after a pause, his tone turned teasing. "Before you sleep, you did pack Mrs. Stave's book in your bag, right?"
I froze.
"Oh… I forgot about that." I sighed, suddenly flustered. "I did pack it, but I'll still get in trouble. I didn't write my notes or do my homework or classwork because I forgot my exercise book. Plus, I skipped detention," I rambled, words tumbling out in one breath.
He chuckled again—deep, quiet, and smooth.
The sound sent a strange flutter through me.
"That's not funny," I protested, though I couldn't stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
"Sorry," he murmured, and I could hear the grin hiding behind the apology.
"Well… if you want, we can catch up tomorrow," he offered, casually—too casually—but there was a warmth there. Something unspoken.
"Uh… you sure?" I asked, trying to mask the curiosity that slipped through.
"Yeah, definitely. Mrs. Stave won't be at school tomorrow," he said confidently.
"How do you know? Is she your mom?" I teased, smirking despite myself.
"Ew, gross. No," he said quickly, his tone dripping mock disgust. "I just know. That's it."
"Mmm," I hummed, amused.
We both laughed then—quietly, softly. The kind of laughter that felt like it existed in its own little world.
For a moment, I forgot everything—the rumors, the warnings, the fear.
"Uh… I'm really sleepy," I whispered, yawning. My eyelids felt like lead.
I glanced at the clock.
3:00 a.m.
My eyes widened. Three hours had passed?
I glanced at the screen—call duration: 3:04:17.
"Uh… it's three in the morning," I murmured, half-shocked, half-dazed. "I should sleep before I oversleep for class."
"Okay, mama. Goodnight," he said, his voice dipping into a low rumble.
The word mama rolled off his tongue like smoke. My heart stuttered.
No, no, no. Heaven's fire! What was this boy doing to me?
"Night," I whispered, pressing the end call button and letting the phone fall onto the bed beside me.
-...
"I hope you all heard me loud and clear!" Mr. Freeman's voice cut through my lingering sleepiness like a slap.
"Yes, sir," the class chorused.
"Good," he continued, his tone brisk. "I'm grouping you randomly—not according to friendship. Otherwise, you'll do rubbish." He moved across the front of the room, clipboard in hand, authority radiating from every word.
"Miley, you're with Isaac. Ananda with Sasha. Thando and Mike. Lilly and Chase."
He scanned the paper, pausing.
"And here, I'll have Slavvy and… let me see… oh yes, Slavvy, you're with Testimony—the new girl."
I froze. Of course.
"What? No, sir!" a girl's voice broke out instantly, high-pitched and sharp.
Sky.
"I make the rules, Sky," Mr. Freeman said, calm but firm. "You're with Omega."
"The nerd? This isn't fair!" she snapped.
"Life isn't fair, sweetie. Chop-chop." He clapped his hands once, finality in the gesture.
Laughter rippled through the room.
"Hey, you—why are you sleeping in my class?" Mr. Freeman's voice boomed again, directed at me.
My head snapped up. The room tilted for a second.
"Uh…" I blinked. "Sorry, sir."
"What's your name?" he asked, patient but stern.
"Uh… Testimony," I muttered, trying to sound awake.
"Well, Testimony, what were you doing up all night while the rest of us were sleeping?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
The class erupted in laughter.
"Probably messing up the whole night," Sky sneered, and giggles followed like an echo.
"Go sit with Slavvy; he'll fill you in," the teacher instructed.
I nodded, gathered my bag, and made my way to his desk.
My heart thudded faster with every step.
I slid into the seat beside him, eyes fixed on my notebook. His faint cologne—clean, dark, and expensive—wrapped around me like smoke.
The bell finally rang, releasing everyone into free period. I exhaled quietly and slipped out of the classroom, heading for my sanctuary—the library.
Books didn't judge.
Books didn't stare.
Books didn't make your pulse race for no reason.
One day, I told myself, I'd write my own stories. Mostly romance—because love fascinated me. But at the same time, it terrified me. I'd seen what love had done to my parents. The heartbreak. The silence. The tears.
I wasn't going to let that happen to me.
I wandered toward the young adult section and ran my fingers along the spines until one title caught my eye—Broken Hearts.
Two broken souls falling in love.
I flipped through a few pages, but the language was harsh, jarring. Not my kind of escape.
I slipped it back onto the shelf.
"What are you looking for?"
I froze.
That voice.
I turned slowly, my gaze traveling up—from his black sneakers to his dark jeans, to the casual shirt that replaced his uniform.
And then to his eyes.
Those eyes.
Dark brown, gleaming with quiet mischief, holding an entire galaxy in them.
"Uh… a book I can read," I said softly, embarrassed by how breathless I sounded.
A small, knowing smile curved his lips.
"How about this one?"
He reached over me, fingers brushing the shelf. The scent of his cologne drifted closer—intense, dizzying.
When he handed me the book, our fingers touched for a split second, and heat darted up my arm.
I glanced at the cover, heart fluttering as I read the title