Nadia POV
I sat at my desk with my laptop open. Three assignments due this week. A press roundup. A team profile. I couldn't focus on any of it.
I wrote for an hour instead. Not schoolwork — just trying to be accurate. I wrote about sitting across from someone and not knowing where the act ended. About how a person could sit perfectly still and still look restless. About three seconds in a corner booth when his hand covered mine for the camera, and how I forgot about our arrangement for a moment.
I didn't read it back. I saved it into an old folder labeled “drafts” and closed it.
"My phone buzzed on the desk. A text from a number I recognized but hadn't saved—Cole's. I'd have to save it now.”
Schedule update. Thursday. Halverson. Owner's box. I'll send the details tonight.
I stared
