IRIS
I step out of the philosophy lecture hall with my bag slung lazily over one shoulder, my notes half-stuffed into my binder and my head still spinning from Socrates' endless questioning. My mind is already drifting to lunch and the escape that might bring when I spot Daisy waving at me from across the quad.
“There you are!” she grins, falling into step beside me. “Why do philosophy classes feel like someone’s trying to rearrange my brain cells?”
“Because they are,” I mutter, rubbing at my temples. “I’m convinced Socrates was just bored and liked annoying people.”
She laughs. “Well, speaking of people who enjoy annoying others…”
I give her a sideways look, brows raised.
“Guess who everyone’s been talking about?” she says, wiggling her eyebrows dramatically.
“Not this again…”
“Us
