The morning sun filtered through the tall arched windows of Saint Aramond, gilding the wooden floors of the classroom in lazy strips of gold. Dust motes drifted through the air like tiny falling stars. Emma and Kate sat near the front, their desks cluttered with open notebooks, half-drunk coffee cups, and the kind of scribbles born from distraction rather than diligence.
Kate twirled her pen absentmindedly between her fingers, her mind only half-present. Emma was listening to the professor with an intensity she hadn't shown in days. Her brows furrowed as she jotted something down, then glanced sideways at Kate.
"You alright?" she whispered.
Kate blinked. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"About Andrew?"
Kate said nothing, but the faint flush on her cheeks was answer enough. Emma chuckled under her breath. "I swear, there's something very different about him lately."
Kate stared at the chalkboard, unwilling to put her feelings into words just yet. But yes. Andrew had changed. Not just the quiet confidence, or the sharpness in his eyes it was something beneath that. Something deeper.
After class, they met Michael near the central fountain before heading to the cafeteria. The smell of baked bread and roasted vegetables drifted from the serving hall, mixing with the sound of chatter and the clatter of utensils.
Michael waved dramatically as he joined them. "My favorite scholars! How was philosophy?"
Emma groaned. "Like watching a tree grow, but slower."
Michael laughed, leading them to a corner table. They shared light talk over lunch: classwork, strange rumors about the new head librarian, the peculiar new transfer student that always seemed to follow Jason around.
Kate was quieter than usual, playing with her fork, eyes glazing over between conversations.
Eventually, she stood. "I'll catch you guys later. I want to stop by the library."
Emma raised an eyebrow. "Studying?"
"Clearing my head."
Kate walked through the long corridors, the halls growing quieter the closer she got to the library. The sharp scent of old books greeted her as she pushed the doors open. Shelves rose like trees in a forest, their spines like bark, their words like leaves.
As she turned a corner near the poetry section, she bumped into someone.
Jason.
He didn't stop. Didn't glance her way. Just walked past like she wasn't there.
Kate stumbled a little from the collision, stunned.
Then came the voice.
"Watch it."
It wasn't Jason.
It was Lisa the new transfer. The girl always seen with Jason, always trailing a few steps behind him like a shadow in high heels. She was dressed in a white shirt tucked into black pants, with a tailored overcoat that made her look more like an agent than a student.
"Sorry," Kate muttered, stepping back.
Lisa narrowed her eyes. "Tch."
Then, with deliberate motion, she stepped forward too close and reached to shove Kate aside.
But her hand never landed.
A third presence emerged between them.
Andrew.
One second he hadn't been there, the next he was. Standing between Lisa and Kate, his hand casually raised to block Lisa's wrist.
He smiled.
But it wasn't the smile of warmth. It was measured, tight, a smile made of mirrors and old secrets.
"Careful, Miss Lisa. You might hurt someone."
His voice was calm, but something in it hummed. Power not in volume, but in control.
Lisa stepped back quickly, her face pale. "A...Andrew. I remember you."
"Well of course you do, Miss Lisa," he replied smoothly.
Without another word, he turned and took Kate's hand gently. There was something startling in the softness of that gesture compared to the chill in his tone just seconds before.
"Come on," he said. "You came here for the quiet, didn't you?"
Kate let him lead her without protest. They walked deeper into the library, past long wooden tables and stacks of leather-bound tomes. Students turned to glance at them, some murmuring, others simply staring.
Andrew led her to a quiet table tucked beneath an arched stained glass window. Morning light painted the floor in rich blues and greens. He pulled out a chair for her, and then sat across from her, the gesture fluid and casual.
A stack of poetry books lay between them.
Andrew picked one up, flipping through pages like someone remembering an old song.
Kate watched him silently.
He wasn't smiling now. Not with bravado. But there was a gentleness in his eyes. A calm that made her chest ache.
"Are you always this theatrical?" she finally asked.
He looked up. "I suppose I have a flair for timing."
Kate laughed softly, her tension fading.
Andrew's gaze dropped to the book. "You ever like there's something you need to do but you just don't know what it is ?"
Kate rested her chin in her palm. "All the time."
There was a quiet pause. The sound of paper turning. Distant whispers.
"Thanks," she said after a while.
He looked at her, a question in his eyes.
"For earlier. For stepping in."
Andrew shrugged. "I always said you attract drama."
"Why don't I remember hearing that from you," she rolls her eyes. "But lately... it's not so bad."
She smiled.
And across the table, Andrew whether it was really him or someone else inside him felt something stir. Not power. Not magic.
Just peace.
And maybe, something warmer.