I hate her.
I love her.
I need help.
She gave us a quiz.
A freaking quiz.
On a Monday.
No warning. No mercy. Just strolled in like some goddess of academic pain, passed out sheets of doom, and smirked like she knew exactly what she was doing.
And she did.
Oh, she definitely did.
I stared at that stupid paper, and all I could think about was the way her voice dipped when she said, "No calculators."
Like she wanted to watch us suffer.
Like she wanted to watch me suffer.
And yeah—I suffered.
Not because I didn't know the answers. I knew them. I could probably recite the first law of thermodynamics in my sleep. But every time I tried to focus… she existed.
The quiet scuff of her sneakers against the floor. The way she leaned one hip against the desk like she owned the world. The soft swish of her bun falling a little looser every time she tilted her head, like even her hair was conspiring against me.
And then it happened.
She looked at me.
Mid-quiz. Dead in the eyes.
Like a sniper.
And smiled.
SMILED.
I swear to every higher power in existence, my pen cracked in half under my grip. There's probably ink on my fingers. On my soul. Who knows. I don't even care anymore.
Forty minutes of slow, torturous, pencil-snapping meltdown.
And when I handed her that paper, I couldn't even meet her eyes.
Not because I didn't want to.
But because if I did—I'd combust.
Vaporize. Turn into a cautionary tale for students everywhere.
I walked out of that room like I'd survived a battlefield. A war zone. Except the enemy wore sneakers, smelled like something painfully good, and said my name like it was a goddamn threat.
Lucian.
She only says it when she's being mean. Or teasing. Or trying to ruin my life.
I slumped onto the nearest bench outside the hall, head in my hands, running a hand through my hair like that'd fix the spiraling chaos happening in my brain.
Ayaan showed up two seconds later like he'd been lurking around the corner, waiting to witness my emotional collapse.
"You alive?" he asked, grinning and sipping from my emergency iced coffee like he owned it.
"Barely."
"She roasted you. That quiz? That was a personal attack, bro."
"I think she's trying to break me."
"Oh, she is. And it's working. You looked like a kicked puppy in there."
"I hate this."
"You love this."
"I hate you."
He grinned wider, pure evil joy lighting up his face. "So what now? You gonna confess? Kiss her behind the lab building? Write another tragic sketch and cry on the rooftop?"
I groaned, shoving him. "Go away."
He cackled like the menace he is. "Nope. I'm here to witness the downfall of Lucian Kim—top student, secret simp."
And me?
I just sat there.
Head spinning. Chest tight.
Thinking about her smirk. The way she said my name like she owned it. That look in her eyes that made me want to both punch a wall and write a goddamn poem.
Lucian.
I think I'm doomed, babe.
Like fully, irreversibly, head-over-heels, pencil-snappingly doomed.