Abbie was lucky to have made it on time. The meeting with Benoît went smoothly, their thesis outline finally tightening into something that made sense. For once, her head was clear enough to focus, or at least, to pretend it was.
Francis offered to drive her back afterward. She could feel him glancing at her every now and then, like he was trying to decide whether to ask something or drop it entirely. She prayed for the latter. His curiosity was like static, low, persistent, and impossible to ignore, but she wasn’t ready to give him anything. Not yet. Not when she didn’t even know what to make of it herself.
So she deflected. They talked about research, their next meeting, and the upcoming presentation. Francis, ever the easygoing one, let the silence stretch whenever she didn’t fill it.
