Nobody Knows

Chapter 6: Close to the Edge

The morning felt too normal.

Sunlight slipped through the classroom windows, warm and steady, landing across rows of desks that looked exactly like they always did. Someone laughed too loudly near the door. A chair scraped against the floor. Papers shuffled.

Life continued.

Like nothing inside me had shifted.

I sat at my desk, staring at my notebook without really seeing the numbers written across the page. My fingers traced the edge of the paper while my thoughts drifted somewhere I refused to name.

Maybe I was just tired.

Maybe yesterday’s heaviness had been nothing more than exhaustion.

I adjusted the loose sleeve of my uniform and forced myself to focus on the comfort of routine.

A bag dropped into the chair beside me.

“Sam,” Cael said, stretching like he had just run a marathon. “You look like someone just canceled math forever.”

I glanced at him. “That would be tragic.”

He studied my face for a second longer than usual. “You’re quieter than normal.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“No,” he said immediately. “You pretend to be quiet. That’s different.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you wake up early just to analyze me?”

“I woke up early because I’m responsible,” he replied proudly.

“That’s new.”

“Rude.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Talking to Cael always felt easy, like stepping into a space where I didn’t have to monitor every word.

He leaned back in his chair, balancing it slightly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You said that too fast.”

“I say everything fast.”

“That’s also a lie.”

I nudged his arm lightly. “Focus on your own existential crisis.”

He grinned. “Mine is manageable. Yours looks dramatic.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“That’s debatable.”

He laughed, satisfied with himself.

The bell rang a few seconds later, cutting off whatever he was going to say next.

Normal.

Safe.

Predictable.

“Careful,” a familiar voice said behind me. “You might trip again.”

Heat rose to my face before I even turned around.

Vhan stood there, one hand resting lightly on the back of my chair, that half-smile already forming like he enjoyed the timing of his entrances.

“I survived,” I said flatly.

“For now,” he replied.

Cael looked between us. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” I said at the same time Vhan said, “A tragic accident involving gravity.”

Cael raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a Sam problem.”

“It was one time,” I muttered.

“One time is enough when it’s dramatic,” Vhan said, sliding into his seat nearby.

I pretended to focus on my notebook, but I could feel his attention lingering for half a second longer than necessary.

The professor entered then, placing his bag on the desk with a soft thud.

“Good morning. Today we continue with applications of integration. I trust you reviewed the material.”

Groans answered him.

He smiled faintly. “Mathematics does not adjust itself to your mood.”

Cael leaned toward me. “That feels personal.”

“It probably is,” I whispered.

Chalk began moving across the board. Clean strokes. Steady equations.

Usually, this was my element.

Usually, my brain ran ahead of the explanation, building the solution before the professor finished the sentence.

Today, I had to work for it.

“Given the function,” the professor continued, “we derive the area under the curve using substitution.”

He turned toward the class. “Why does substitution simplify this expression?”

Silence.

Then Vhan spoke, casual but precise. “Because direct integration would complicate the limits. Substitution transforms it into something manageable.”

The professor nodded. “Exactly.”

I glanced sideways.

“Show off,” I murmured.

He didn’t look at me when he replied. “You were about to say the same thing.”

“I was.”

“Then say it next time.”

“Maybe I like letting you think you’re impressive.”

That got his attention.

He looked at me properly then, amused. “You don’t let people think anything unless it benefits you.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

Cael leaned back in his chair. “Should I be concerned about whatever intellectual flirting is happening here?”

“This is not flirting,” I said quickly.

“It’s foreplay,” he replied dryly.

“Focus,” I snapped, but I was fighting a smile.

The professor wrote another equation on the board.

“You will continue with your assigned partners,” he announced. “Progress reports by Friday. Understanding requires patience.”

A few students sighed.

Vhan turned slightly toward me. “You free later?”

“For what?”

“To make sure you don’t sabotage our grade.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I am not the weak link.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said lightly, “you agreed to work with me.”

That was true.

I looked back at my notebook, trying to hide the way my pulse had shifted.

This was different from the bar.

Different from strangers.

This was sharp.

Engaging.

And somehow more dangerous.

The bell rang and chairs scraped back in uneven rhythm.

Students spilled into the hallway, conversations overlapping in waves. I packed my things slower than necessary, aware of two different presences waiting near my desk.

Vhan slung his bag over his shoulder first. “Don’t disappear later.”

“I won’t,” I said.

Cael stood up beside me. “She won’t. She’s predictable.”

“I am not predictable,” I muttered.

“You color-code your notes,” Cael said.

“That’s called organization.”

Vhan glanced at my notebook. “Let me guess. Blue for formulas, black for proofs, red for things that annoy you?”

I paused.

“Red is for mistakes,” I said.

“Interesting,” he replied lightly.

We stepped into the hallway together. The noise felt louder now, bouncing off lockers and tiled floors.

Cael walked on my left. Vhan naturally fell into step on my right.

No one said anything about it.

“Later,” Vhan said casually, “we should probably start with the substitution method before she decides to rewrite the entire solution.”

“I don’t rewrite,” I said.

“You over-refine.”

“That’s called accuracy.”

Cael snorted. “You two are the same person arguing with yourselves.”

“We are not,” I said immediately.

Vhan glanced at me. “Speak for yourself.”

Cael nudged my shoulder. “Careful, Sam. You’re starting to sound invested.”

“I’m invested in not failing.”

“That’s what they all say,” Cael replied.

Vhan tilted his head slightly. “Relax. I won’t let you fail.”

It was casual.

Too casual.

Cael’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “She doesn’t need saving.”

“I didn’t say she did.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied she’s dramatic.”

“That’s accurate,” Cael said.

I stopped walking and looked at both of them. “Are you two arguing about me or about math?”

“Math,” they said at the same time.

I narrowed my eyes.

Vhan smiled faintly. “You’re the one making it complicated.”

Cael leaned closer to me as we resumed walking. “He talks too much.”

“You both do,” I said.

But I couldn’t ignore the current running quietly beneath the surface.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t obvious.

Just a subtle push and pull.

Like they were testing each other.

And somehow, I was the middle ground.

That realization sent a strange flicker through my chest.

This was new.

At the bar, there were no layers.

No subtext.

No one trying to measure themselves against someone else.

This felt… deliberate.

And I wasn’t sure whether to enjoy it or step away from it.

The cafeteria was louder than usual.

Trays clattered. Someone dropped a spoon. A group near the window burst into laughter that felt too sharp against my ears.

We sat in our usual spot.

Cael across from me.

Vhan beside me.

I should’ve felt normal.

Instead, everything felt slightly amplified.

“So,” Cael said casually while unwrapping his sandwich, “serious question.”

“That already sounds dangerous,” I muttered.

“It is,” he confirmed.

Vhan leaned back in his chair. “Oh, I like this. Go on.”

Cael pointed at both of us. “What’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done?”

I didn’t react.

Externally.

Inside, something tightened.

“That’s your serious question?” I said lightly. “You need better hobbies.”

“No, think about it,” he continued. “Everyone has one thing they’d never admit out loud.”

Vhan smirked. “You first.”

Cael grinned. “I asked the question.”

“Coward,” Vhan said.

I stabbed a piece of food slowly, pretending I wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of every word.

Reckless.

Define reckless.

Sneaking out?

Lying?

Letting strangers touch you?

Kissing someone in a bar bathroom to hide from someone else?

My throat felt dry.

“I don’t do reckless,” I said smoothly.

Both of them looked at me.

Together.

“You?” Vhan said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’d do something wild just to prove a point.”

I forced a laugh. “What kind of point?”

“That you’re not as predictable as people think,” he said.

That hit.

Too close.

Cael tilted his head slightly. “He’s not wrong.”

“Oh please,” I replied. “You two are projecting.”

“Are we?” Cael leaned forward. “You ever just… wanted to do something completely out of character?”

The question wasn’t teasing anymore.

It was curious.

My pulse thudded once in my ears.

Out of character.

Which character.

Sam?

Or Brooke?

“I think everyone has thoughts like that,” I said carefully.

“That’s not an answer,” Vhan replied quietly.

I looked at him.

His expression wasn’t mocking.

It wasn’t playful either.

It was searching.

That made it worse.

“I don’t owe you a confession,” I said, smiling slightly.

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t.”

“But,” Cael added lightly, “if you ever do something insane, I’d like front row seats.”

I scoffed. “You’d faint.”

“Try me.”

Vhan chuckled. “He would. He can’t even handle horror movies.”

“That’s slander,” Cael protested.

Their laughter filled the space between us.

I joined in.

I had to.

But inside, something felt exposed.

Not because they knew.

They didn’t.

But because for a second, I almost felt like they could.

And that terrified me more than being caught ever did.

“You know what’s funny?” Vhan said suddenly.

“What?” I asked.

“You act like you’re made of glass. But sometimes I feel like you’re made of something sharper.”

My fork paused mid-air.

Cael looked at him. “That sounded poetic. Are you sick?”

“Shut up,” Vhan replied.

I forced a smile. “You two overthink everything.”

“Maybe,” Cael said quietly. “Or maybe you underestimate how obvious you are.”

My chest tightened.

Obvious.

Was I?

No.

Impossible.

They’re just guessing.

They’re just talking.

“You’re dramatic,” I said lightly, standing up with my tray. “I’m going to get water.”

Neither of them stopped me.

But I felt their eyes follow me.

And for the first time, the thrill of having two people’s attention didn’t feel empowering.

It felt like standing too close to a line I wasn’t ready to cross.