OLIVIA
Senior year was both the luckiest and worst year of my high school life.
It was the luckiest because, at last, Noah and I became deskmates. Though we didn’t talk much—just exchanged the occasional glance, and I was already content with that.
One day, I accidentally picked up the wrong textbook and filled it with notes. When class ended, I realized it was Noah’s, as his name was written neatly on the cover. His handwriting stood out—unconventional and distinctly his own.
I stared at his textbook for a long time. Just the thought of my handwriting being left on his textbook's pages made me feel as though, at that moment, two non-parallel lines were slowly converging.
“I accidentally took your textbook,” I whispered to Noah the next day.
I had gotten to school early
