(Michelle POV)
The bell rang.
And just like that, physics class released us back into the chaos of university reality — the rustle of bags, the groan of exhausted students, the sharp scrape of chairs against tiled floors echoing all around us like the aftershock of something too real to ignore.
Chatter flooded the air. Laughter. Complaints. The usual soundtrack of students pretending they weren't already overwhelmed.
Anthony stretched his arms dramatically, cracking his neck.
"I swear, if we have another quiz this early into the semester, I'm transferring to culinary arts."
"You can't cook," Jasmine replied smoothly without even looking up.
"That's emotional violence."
The corner of Lara's lips curved as she zipped her notebook into her bag, movements quiet, controlled, graceful as always. Steven rose just behind me, and I felt it before I saw it — the soft graze of his knuckles against mine, accidental in theory, intentional in practice.
