Two
703 Words
The campus library at night was my sanctuary. High ceilings, the faint smell of old paper, the low hum of fluorescent lights, it was where I could think without anyone breathing down my neck.
So when I rounded the corner to my usual spot in the far back and found someone already sitting there, my blood boiled.
Not just someone. Him.
Adrian Cole lounged in the seat like he owned it, one long leg stretched out, a thick law textbook open in front of him. His jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexing as he jotted notes with maddening ease.
Of course. Out of hundreds of seats, he had to pick mine.
“You’re in my spot,” I said flatly, hugging my books to my chest.
Adrian didn’t even glance up. “Didn’t see your name on it.”
“Move.”
He turned a page slowly, like he hadn’t heard me, then finally raised his head. That smirk. Always that smirk.
“What’s the magic word?”
I exhaled sharply and dropped my books on the table with a loud thud. Dust puffed up from the impact. “I wasn’t asking.”
“Touchy tonight,” he murmured, leaning back. His eyes skimmed over me, amused. “Fine. Stay. I could use the entertainment.”
I slid into the chair across from him, spine stiff, daring him to keep pushing.
The silence that followed wasn’t silence at all. His pen tapped rhythmically against the paper, a deliberate irritation. My page turns were sharp, aggressive. Every so often, our eyes flicked up and met across the table like swords clashing in the dark.
Hours crawled by, tension thicker than the stale air around us. The library emptied until it was just us, locked in our silent war.
“Your handwriting’s sloppy,” Adrian said finally, not looking up from his notes.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He nodded toward my notebook. “You write like a doctor prescribing poison. Half the time I wonder how you even read your own words.”
I stared at him, incredulous. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Practical,” he corrected smoothly. “Presentation matters, Bennett.”
“And yet you spend half your life smirking instead of saying anything useful,” I shot back.
His lips curved, infuriatingly calm. “And still manage to beat you.”
My blood heated. “You don’t beat me. You annoy me into silence.”
“That’s a form of winning.”
I wanted to scream. Or laugh. Or throw my pen at his head. Maybe all three.
Around midnight, I finally stretched, neck aching from hunching over my work. Adrian was still writing, posture relaxed, like he could go all night without breaking a sweat.
“Don’t you ever get tired?” I muttered.
He shrugged, not glancing up. “Not when I’m ahead.”
Something in his tone was different this time—quieter, less smug, almost… sincere.
I shook the thought away. Do not humanize him, Aria.
Gathering my things, I pushed back my chair. “Enjoy the spot while you can. Tomorrow it’s mine again.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said easily.
On my way out, I slowed as voices drifted from the faculty office near the library entrance. Recognizing one instantly, I paused behind the half-closed door.
“…Bennett’s sharp,” Adrian was saying. His voice was low, serious—none of the arrogance I was used to. “She pushes hard. More than most. Don’t underestimate her.”
Professor Lane chuckled. “Interesting endorsement, Cole. I thought you two were rivals.”
There was a pause, then Adrian’s reply: “Competitors sharpen each other. Iron on iron, right? She’s one of the few worth going against.”
My chest tightened, breath catching.
By the time I stepped back, heart pounding, the conversation had moved on. I hurried outside, the cool night air biting my cheeks.
Why would Adrian Cole—my sworn rival, my constant thorn—defend me like that?
I didn’t have an answer. And that unsettled me more than any insult he’d ever thrown my way.
- Writer
