Between Notes and Fights

CHAPTER THREE

The rain had a way of making Orangegate University feel smaller, like the sound of it folding on the edges of the world. All morning it had been drumming against roofs, hissing on the walkways, running down the sides of lecture halls in thin silver streams. The smell of wet earth and concrete hung heavy in the air.

Maria White was late. Not catastrophically late — but late enough that she was already rehearsing the words she’d throw at Rueben if he dared make a joke about it. Her sneakers splashed through shallow puddles as she hurried toward the Social Sciences block, the edge of her umbrella catching the wind.

Inside, the lecture room was warm with the scent of bodies and damp fabric. Students were scattered across the space in loose clusters, talking over the hum of rain against the high glass windows. The weekly project check-in was halfway through.

She spotted Mary first. Her best friend was parked in the far corner beside her own partner, Daniel, wearing the expression of someone who had news and couldn’t wait to share it. Mary’s hand flicked up in a small wave — the kind that said 'come here, it’s juicy'.

Maria sighed, weaving past a row of chairs until she slid into the seat beside her. Droplets slid from the tips of her braids onto her sweater as she dug for her laptop.

“You’ve been spotted,” Mary said, her voice pitched low but brimming with mischief.

Maria didn’t look up. “Spotted doing what?”

“Library. Twice this week. With Rueben.”

Maria’s fingers stilled on the laptop zipper. “We’re partners, Mary. We meet at work.”

“Mhm.” Mary’s smile curved slowly, like she was savoring the taste of the rumor. “And the way you glare at him in public? Definitely the glare of someone who doesn’t care at all.”

Maria gave her a side-eye. “You’re imagining things.”

Before Mary could press further, a familiar voice cut in from behind.

“Talking about me again, White?”

She turned, and there he was — Rueben George— with the same irritating confidence as always. His T-shirt was damp at the shoulders, rain-darkened fabric clinging just enough to hint at the lean muscle underneath. His hair was curling more than usual, droplets clinging like he’d been too lazy to use an umbrella. In one hand, he held a small brown paper bag, faintly warm from whatever was inside.

“You’re late,” she said flatly.

“Fashionably,” he replied, sliding into the seat next to her without asking. He set the bag between them and nudged it closer. “Peace offering.”

“We have work to do,” she reminded him.

“Exactly. Brains work better when the stomach’s happy.”

From across the room, Peter’s voice called out, dripping with mockery. “Rueben! Thought you were done turning every project into a circus.”

A ripple of laughter followed.

Maria’s jaw tightened before she could stop it. She didn’t like Peter on the best of days, and this wasn’t one.

“Better a circus that works than a boring failure,” she said, her voice steady and loud enough to carry.

The room quieted just enough for the jab to land. Rueben glanced at her, eyebrows slightly raised, and for a heartbeat the usual teasing in his eyes softened into something else — something that almost looked like respect.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer.

---

After the meeting, they relocated to the library. The glass walls were streaked with rain, the sky outside the color of wet ash. Inside, the air was cool and dry, filled with the faint scent of old paper and the occasional rustle of pages turning.

Rueben leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers, while Maria typed with focused precision. For a while, the only sounds were the soft clack of her keys and the rain beyond the windows.

“So… you defended me today,” he said eventually.

“I defended the project,” she corrected without looking up.

His grin was audible. “Right. The project.”

Silence stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly — but it carried a charge, like something unspoken humming just beneath it.

To break it, she asked without thinking, “Why Political Science? You don’t seem like the type.”

“What’s the type?”

“Serious. Focused. Not…” she gestured vaguely at him without taking her eyes off the screen, “…you.”

He chuckled, the sound low. Then, after a beat, he said, “My dad wanted a lawyer. Politics felt like a compromise. Plus, I like figuring out people. How to get them to listen.”

She glanced at him then, surprised. It was the most straightforward answer he’d given her since they met.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Bad policy ruins lives,” she said simply. “Someone has to fix it.”

He didn’t tease her for her earnestness. Instead, he nodded slowly. “Admirable.”

Their eyes met. And for just a moment, the rest of the library faded — the rain, the turning pages, even the laptop screen between them.

---

The bubble popped when Mary appeared, balancing a precarious stack of books against her chest.

“You two need to hear this,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Peter’s been telling people your ‘partnership’ is… extracurricular.”

Rueben’s smirk was instant. “We could always confirm it.”

“Not funny,” Asha snapped.

But later, when they left together under her umbrella — because he’d “forgotten” his again — she found herself too aware of the way his shoulder brushed hers, too aware of the quiet between them that wasn’t quite the same as it had been last week.