Malia
I had spread my books out across the dining table like I was determined to build a fortress of paper and ink.
My highlighters were scattered to one side and my notes stacked in uneven piles, I clenched my pen too tightly between my fingers as I looked around the environment that truly did not reflect me at all.
It wasn’t that I was truly absorbed in the work, I was. In fact half the time I was just staring at the same sentence over and over, underlining words I didn’t even need to but it felt like something I had to do.
Staring at my book I thought that if I could convince myself I was serious, maybe the noise in my head would quiet down.
The scrape of a chair pulled me out of it. Maverick had drifted in from the kitchen with a mug in hand, the faint curl of steam rising in fr
