FORBIDDEN STUDY SESSIONS

Chapter 2: Sparks in the Silence

That touch lingered like a promise, but we didn’t cross the line. Not yet. My heart raced as I pulled back first, adjusting my glasses. Victor’s eyes stayed on me, dark and questioning, but he let it go. We packed up in awkward silence that night, the kind that left me replaying every word when I got back to my dorm. I couldn’t stop wondering what might happen if we kept pushing.

It all traced back to that very first real study session, though.

I arrived at the university library just after nine, my bag heavy with notes and printed articles. The place felt alive in a hushed way at night. Dim lights cast long shadows down the tall stacks of books, creating little pockets of privacy between the shelves. Distant footsteps echoed from somewhere on the upper level, and every now and then a page turned softly. Outside, faint party noise drifted in from the dorms across the quad, laughter, bass from music, the usual campus chaos. Inside, it was just the quiet hum of focused minds.

I picked a table on the main floor, near a corner but not too hidden. My short skirt brushed my thighs as I sat, and I tugged it down before spreading out my materials. Notes on Pride and Prejudice, key quotes highlighted, a rough outline for our project. I was ready. That’s how I handled things, prepared, in control.

Victor showed up late, of course. Around nine-twenty, he strolled in with that easy swagger, duffel bag slung over one shoulder like he’d come straight from practice. No notes visible. Just him, tall and cocky, in a fitted Hawthorne shirt that showed off his build.

“Sorry, bookworm,” he said, dropping into the chair across from me. “Team stuff ran long.”

I pushed my glasses up and gave him a look. “We said nine. I’ve already started.”

He grinned, leaning back. “Straight to it, huh? Alright, what’s the plan, Professor Betty?”

We clashed right away. I laid out my analysis on power dynamics in the book, how Elizabeth challenges Darcy’s arrogance. Victor listened for a minute, then jumped in with his own take.

“Yeah, but the guy’s got reasons,” he said, tapping the table. “He’s not just some rich jerk. He’s carrying expectations. Sounds like real life to me.”

I crossed my arms, feeling my chest press against my blouse. “So you’re defending him because he reminds you of yourself?”

Victor laughed, low and genuine. “Maybe. Are you calling me arrogant already? We just met.”

Our banter sharpened from there, but something else wove through it. Chemistry, unexpected and warm. He’d tease, I’d push back, and every exchange left this little spark hanging in the air. Other students sat at nearby tables, heads down in their own worlds, while a librarian made slow rounds, her shoes clicking softly on the floor. It kept things grounded, real campus life buzzing just out of reach.

We made actual progress too. Victor surprised me by pulling out his phone and sharing a couple of solid points on modern relationships. “See? Even athletes read sometimes,” he joked.

I smiled despite myself. “Don’t get cocky. We still need better sources.”

At one point, we both reached for the same book. Our hands brushed. His fingers were warm, rough from rugby, and the contact sent a quiet shiver through me. I pulled away fast, but not before catching his eyes on mine. Prolonged, searching. My hidden thoughts stirred, the ones I kept locked away, imagining a guy like him taking charge, making me feel seen beyond the shy girl with glasses and big curves. Nothing had happened, but his dominant presence filled the space. The way he leaned in when he spoke, voice steady and sure, made my skin warm and my pulse quicken in ways that flustered me.

“You’re not what I pictured,” he said after a stretch of good work. His compliment came easy, teasing but sincere. “Most girls in short skirts like yours are chasing parties. You? You’ve got this whole brilliant thing going.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. I adjusted my glasses again, focusing on my notes. “And you? Rugby captain who shows up late but actually has ideas. Surprising.”

He chuckled. “Keep talking like that and I might show up early next time.”

The session stretched on. We debated a scene from the book, voices low to not disturb the others. Distant party noise swelled outside for a bit, then faded. The librarian passed once more, giving us a polite nod. Tension simmered underneath every word, accidental touches, the way his knee rested near mine under the table, those lingering looks that made me wonder if he felt it too.

As closing time approached, the library emptied out. We moved to a more secluded corner to finish packing, away from the last few studiers. The tall stacks loomed around us, dim lights casting everything in a soft glow. Victor stepped closer than necessary, his broad frame blocking some of the light. His voice dropped low, commanding in a way that sent fresh shivers down my spine.

“Betty,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “This project… it’s not the only thing I’m thinking about now.”

I realized right then I didn’t want the night to end. My body leaned in slightly, drawn to that pull, heart hammering with all the unsaid possibilities. The air crackled between us.

But before I could respond, footsteps approached fast. The librarian appeared at the end of the aisle, keys jingling. “The library's closing in five minutes. Time to wrap up, you two.”

We broke apart, the moment shattered. Victor grabbed his bag, shooting me one last look full of that unresolved electricity. I gathered my things, cheeks flushed, mind spinning.

“Thursday?” he asked as we headed for the doors.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Thursday.”

We stepped out into the cool night air, party sounds louder now from across campus. I walked back to my dorm alone, body still buzzing from that nearness, his commanding tone echoing in my head. What were we starting here? And how long could I keep pretending it was just about the books?

The questions followed me all the way home, leaving me restless in bed later, wondering what the next session would bring.