longing After You

Chapter Three: Project Partners from Hell**

If I’m being honest, I didn’t expect to enjoy science class this much. Back at my old school, the lab smelled like chalk dust and burned wire.

Here, it smells faintly of lemon disinfectant and money — the kind of money that buys sleek glass tables, shiny microscopes, and white lab coats that actually fit,not the oversized one I was given at my old school.

Luckily, today had started on a peaceful note.

No bumping into someone or getting bullied by Vanessa or one of her friends.

I just pray it stays that way!

Miss Sarah, our science teacher, stands in front of the classroom, her soft voice somehow carrying perfectly across the room. She’s not like the other teachers here. There’s something gentle about her, something that reminds me of home — of my mum humming as she prepared dinner, or of Debbie’s small hand wrapped around mine.

“Science,” Miss Sarah says, tapping the board lightly with her marker, “isn’t just about formulas. It’s about observation. Paying attention.”

Her eyes scan the class as she speaks, pausing on each student for a second — even the ones who pretend to be bored. When her gaze lands on me, she smiles faintly, like she knows exactly how out of place I feel.

I smile back before I can stop myself.

Then she says the words that make the whole class collectively groan.

“I well be assigning a project work for this session and you’ll all be working in pairs for this project.”

Immediately, heads turn, whispers filled the air, and students start glancing at their friends. I quietly take out my notebook, bracing myself. At my old school, I was usually paired with whoever was left and I've got a feeling that it might still be the same case here, but for a different reason.

Miss Sarah starts calling out names. “Maya and Trenton.”

Maya grins and waves across the room to Trenton, who winks back. Of course. They look like they’ve stepped out of a teen drama.

“Zoey and Rachel.”

A few more pairs are announced. Then

“Zita Miller… and Xavier MacAndre.”

It feels like the air itself pauses for half a second.

My head snaps up. I blink, convinced I misheard. But no — Xavier’s ocean-blue eyes are already on me, unreadable as always. Vanessa turns around in her seat, her expression sour enough to curdle milk.

“Oh, Miss Sarah, are you sure?” she says sweetly. “I mean, no offense, but Xavier usually works better with people who can actually keep up.”

A few students snicker. My stomach twists, but Miss Sarah’s calm voice slices through the noise.

“I’m sure, Vanessa. I think Zita and Xavier will make an excellent team.”

“And they did well at yesterday's experiment,so why not? She continued.

Vanessa’s glare could melt steel.

Xavier doesn’t say a word. He just leans back in his seat, crossing his arms like this was inconvenient to him but inevitable.

I scribble in my notebook to avoid eye contact, but my heart was doing somersaults.

By the time the class ended, I was exhausted from pretending not to care. I linger, pretending to tidy my books while everyone else leaves,so I could be the last. Then I heard footsteps behind me – calm, steady ones,and before I even turn, I know it’s him.

“Guess we’re partners,” Xavier says, his tone flat but not unfriendly.

I turn, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

He nods, his eyes flicking briefly to my notebook. “You’re good at science, right? You seem like the type.”

“The type?”

He shrugs. “Focused. Quiet. Organized.”

I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment. “You don’t seem like the type,” I say before I can stop myself.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Touché.”

For a moment, something almost like amusement flickers in his eyes. Then he looks down at his watch. “Meet me in the library after school. We’ll figure out the project topic.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

I stood there for a second, staring at the door he walked through, wondering what just happened. My pulse shouldn’t skip over something so ordinary, but it does.

*.*.*.*

The library at Elite Private School was huge, almost the size of my entire old school building. It’s quiet — not the intimidating kind of quiet, but the comforting kind. I find a table near the back and pull out my notes.

Xavier arrives exactly five minutes later, dropping his bag onto the chair opposite me.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just opens his laptop and starts typing like I’m not even there.

“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, despite the uneasiness I felt “any ideas for our topic?”

“Energy conversion,” he replies without looking up. “It’s practical and easy to demonstrate.”

I nod. “We could build a small model — maybe a water wheel generator or a solar-powered fan.”

That gets his attention. His eyes lift to mine, curious. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I like science. It makes sense. It’s... fair. You follow the rules, and things work out.”

He studies me for a moment, and I can almost feel the air shift between us. “You really believe that?”

I hesitate. “I want to.”

Something flickers in his expression— making it softer, almost thoughtful before he looks away again. “Fair enough.”

We spend the next hour sketching ideas and dividing tasks. Xavier is focused, efficient, and surprisingly patient. When I mess up a calculation, he quietly slides his notebook over and shows me the shortcut. His handwriting is annoyingly neat.

Every so often, our hands brush when we reach for the same paper. Each time, he pulls back first but not fast enough for me not to notice.

Miss Sarah’s words echo in my head: Science is about observation. Paying attention.

Maybe this is what she meant.

It’s nearly five when we finish. My hand aches from writing. Xavier shuts his laptop and stretches, his movement casual, graceful.

“You’re actually easy to work with,” he says.

I laugh softly. “Thanks… I think.”

He smirks, a hint of warmth in his voice. “I mean it. Most people try too hard around me. You don’t.”

“I’m too focused on not failing,” I reply.

He tilts his head, studying me again. “Or maybe you just don’t care what people think.”

The words hit deeper than they should. Because I do care — more than I’d like to admit. But hearing him say it like that… It feels so good.

He slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll handle the model. You do the written part. We’ll meet again Friday.”

“Okay.” I say.

He hesitates, then adds quietly, “Good work today, Miller.”

The way he says my name — steady, almost gentle with his deep voice,sends a strange flutter through my chest.

When he walks away, I stay seated for a while, staring at the half-finished diagrams spread across the table.

For the first time since I came to this school, I don’t feel completely invisible.

That night back home, when I open my diary, I write:

Today, I learned that attention is its own kind of science. The more you pay attention, the more you notice things you weren’t supposed to see — like the way someone’s voice softens when they stop pretending not to give a damn.

I close the diary gently. Outside, the city lights blink like stars trapped in glass towers.

And even though I tell myself not to, I can’t help wondering what Xavier MacAndre is thinking about right now.

Could he be thinking about me?