I thought staying away from Noah Lee would solve everything. I was wrong.
When the teacher announced we’d be partners for the semester project, my stomach sank. “Charlotte… Noah,” she said cheerfully.
The entire class turned, whispering and pointing. I could practically hear their thoughts: She’s stuck with him? My palms sweated, and my chest tightened.
Noah looked at me, his sharp gray eyes locking onto mine. “Looks like fate really hates you,” he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
I clenched my fists. “Or maybe the universe just wants me to suffer.”
Lunch was torture. Every glance at him made my blood boil. Every soft-spoken comment under his breath — “Try not to mess this up” — made my teeth grind.
By the time we met in the library, I was ready to explode. “I’m not doing all the work!” I slammed my notebook on the table, papers fluttering like wounded birds.
He didn’t flinch. “Then don’t. I’ll finish it myself.”
“I can’t believe you think you’re better than me!” I yelled, voice echoing in the quiet room.
“Good,” he said flatly, voice calm as ice. “Then stop trying to prove otherwise.”
I could feel my face heating up. A few students peeked over their books, whispers floating around us.
And then — the tiniest crack. I noticed the way his eyes softened slightly when he explained the project instructions, patient but precise.
I wanted to hate him. I tried to hate him. But somehow… it was impossible.
As I left the library that evening, my chest still racing, I muttered to myself, “This is going to be a very long semester.”