Sid's pov-
When the teacher read out the room assignments, I didn't blink.
But my stomach did somersaults.
Room 509: Sid leclair and Prof. Theo Hale.
At first, people laughed. Thought it was a joke."Must be a glitch," someone said.
But it wasn't.
Because the university booked single rooms for faculty and their assigned students.
And someone—probably fate, probably hell—had paired us.
The flight to Paris was eight hours.
We didn't speak.
Not a word.
I wore sunglasses and silence like armor.
He sat beside me, stiff, cold, pretending I didn't exist.
But when we landed and walked into the gold-and-cream hotel suite, something shifted.
Because there was only one bed.
Not two.
Not even a couch.
Just one king-sized bed.
Between two people pretending they hadn't seen each other naked.He dropped his bag. I leaned on the windowsill.
Eiffel Tower, golden in the dusk, flickered in the distance.
"Do you want the bed or the floor?" he asked, voice like gravel.
I smirked. "You offering to sleep on the floor for me, Professor?"
He didn't answer.
Just stared.
Tired. Angry. Starving.
Because the silence wasn't working anymore.
Not with seven nights ahead.
Not with Paris outside.
And a history we couldn't unwrite inside.