(Michelle Lui's POV)
Calculus finished slower than usual.
Maybe because my brain kept drifting.
Maybe because the classroom felt too warm.
Maybe because the week had been an emotional rollercoaster and today was the quiet climb before the next drop.
Whatever it was, the moment the professor dismissed us, my body felt like jelly.
I exhaled, gathered my notebook, and stepped out into the crisp December air.
And there he was.
As if he'd been waiting the whole time.
Steven stood near the courtyard pillar — scarf loose, hands in his pockets, the winter sun catching on the strands of his hair. He straightened when he saw me, subtle but unmistakable.
"You made it," he said softly.
"You say that like I barely survived."
"Didn't you?"
"A mental marathon."
"That counts," he said.
I laughed under my breath. "Barely."
He glanced toward the walkway. "Car park?"
I nodded.
And we walked — quietly, comfortably — while the December breeze carried whispers behind us:
