Between Us

Chapter 6 — The Problem With Pretending

The problem with pretending to have feelings for someone is that your brain eventually stops checking whether they're real or not.

I discovered this on Monday morning when Zane showed up at my table in the library — not BIO 215, not lunch, just the library at 9am on a random Monday — and sat down across from me without explanation, opened his laptop, and started working.

I stared at him.

He didn't look up.

"Can I help you?" I said.

"No."

"This is my table."

"The library has forty three tables." He typed something. "You don't own this one."

"I'm always at this one."

"I know." He finally looked up. "That's why I'm here. I work better when it's quiet and you're always quiet."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

That was possibly the strangest compliment anyone had ever paid me.

I went back to my notes.

We sat in silence for two hours and it was the most productive morning I'd had all semester.

That was the problem.

It kept happening after that.

Not every day — Zane wasn't predictable enough for every day — but enough that Denise noticed, which meant everyone eventually noticed, because Denise had the information distribution speed of a campus radio station.

"He just sits with you?" she asked on Wednesday night, lying across my bed eating my biscuits without asking. "Just works?"

"Yes."

"He doesn't talk?"

"Sometimes."

"About what?"

I thought about it. "Last Tuesday he told me that the cafeteria jollof on Thursdays is better than Mondays because they use a different pot. Wednesday he explained the entire plot of a film I'd never seen in approximately four minutes. Thursday he was quiet the whole time except to tell me my highlighter colour system was over engineered."

Denise stared at me.

"What?" I said.

"Ava." She sat up slowly. "He's courting you."

"He's not—"

"He is sitting next to you every day and learning your habits and sharing random information about himself." She pointed a biscuit at me. "That is courting. That is textbook courting."

"It's a fake relationship Denise—"

"Does he know that?" She raised her eyebrows. "Because from what you're describing, he might be forgetting."

I threw a pillow at her.

She caught it, entirely unbothered.

I lay awake that night for longer than I wanted to admit.

The tutoring sessions had shifted too — less structured, more natural. We still covered BIO 215 content but somewhere along the way it had stopped feeling like a transaction and started feeling like two people who just happened to study well together.

He asked questions I didn't expect.

Not about biology — about me. Small things, slipped in casually between explaining cell membrane structure and quizzing me on enzyme function.

What did you want to be before medicine?

Do you actually like biology or is it just practical?

What's your family like?

I answered carefully, giving enough to seem normal without giving too much. But I noticed I was starting to ask things back. Small things. Careful things.

What I found out — slowly, piece by piece — was that Zane Carter was not what campus had decided he was.

He was the first person in his family to study science. His father had wanted him to go into business, and there was a tension there he didn't elaborate on but I could hear it in the pauses. He failed BIO 215 the first time not because he was careless but because that semester his parents had separated and he hadn't told anyone and had simply shown up to campus and pretended everything was fine.

He told me that last part on a Thursday evening, very casually, like it was just information and not something heavy.

I didn't make a big deal of it.

I got the feeling that was exactly what he needed.

Friday came with unexpected chaos.

I was walking out of my 2pm lecture when I ran into Keira — not literally this time, just in the corridor, unavoidably, with nowhere to divert to. She was with two friends and they all slowed down in that deliberate way that meant this wasn't accidental.

"Ava," she said pleasantly. "How are things?"

"Fine," I said. "You?"

"Wonderful." She smiled. "I actually wanted to apologise for the other day. I was rude." Her eyes were completely unreadable. "I hope there are no hard feelings."

"None at all."

"Good." She tilted her head slightly. "You know I do genuinely wish you both well. It's just—" a small laugh, "—Zane has a type, and I want to make sure you know what you're walking into. That's all."

Her friends smiled in that perfectly choreographed way.

I smiled back with equal precision.

"That's really thoughtful of you," I said. "I'll keep it in mind."

She held my gaze for one beat too long.

Then they moved on.

I exhaled slowly and texted Zane immediately.

Keira just apologised to me.

What.

In the corridor. Very politely. With witnesses.

That's worse than the confrontation.

I KNOW. What does it mean?

It means she's not done. She's just changed strategy.

I stared at the message.

So what do we do?

His reply took a minute.

We be more convincing.

I read that three times.

Define more convincing.

I'll explain later. Library. 6pm

.

I showed up at 6pm.

He was already there, leaning back in his chair, looking at the ceiling like it had answers. He sat up when I arrived and looked at me with an expression I hadn't seen before — something between determined and uncertain, which on Zane looked almost strange.

"I think," he said carefully, "we need to go on an actual date."

The library was very quiet.

"An actual date," I repeated.

"Somewhere visible. Somewhere people will talk about." He ran a hand through his hair. "Keira changing tactics means she's going to be watching more carefully. If we're going to make this believable enough to actually work—"

"We need to be more believable," I finished.

"Yes."

I looked at him across the table. The boy who sat next to me every morning and told me random things and remembered which table I always sat at and had once failed a course because he was quietly falling apart and hadn't told a single person.

The boy I was absolutely, definitely, not developing feelings for.

"Fine," I said.

He nodded once.

"Fine," he echoed.

We both looked away at the same time.

Outside the library windows the sun was going down, painting everything gold and quiet.

I told myself it was just the next step in the plan.

I almost believed it this time too.