Four years in the same class. Four years of hating you, Theodore Alistair. I'm Anastasia Isolde Reyes - the perfectionist, the working student, the girl with color-coded notes. You're Theodore Alistair - the sleep-deprived, the class clown, the king of "I'll do it later." We fought in class. We got paired for thesis. We had no choice. We were the last two left. Our topic: grief and healing The problem: I don't know who needs to heal more. You, who jokes through everything? Or me, who thinks I can fix everyone? It started with banter in the library. With coffee that suddenly appeared on my desk. With nights where you're the first one to notice when I'm breaking. Maybe this thesis... isn't just research. Maybe it's me, researching you. Some studies take 4 years to finish. Some people take even longer to understand