"Oli, wake up! Breakfast's ready!"
Mom's voice floated up the stairs, muffled by the clatter of pans and the bustle of the morning rush.
I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. If I didn't hurry, I'd end up stuck at the back of class again.
And don't get me wrong—there's nothing wrong with the last bench.
But my professors have this habit of muttering like they're whispering secrets to the board.
From the back, it's like trying to decode static.
I rushed downstairs, shoveled whatever was on the table into my mouth, gulped my milk in one go, and ran like my life depended on it.
Still, luck wasn't with me. I missed my bus. Perfect start to the day.
By the time I made it to class, the front seats were already occupied.
My nightmare had come true. I sighed and slipped into the third-to-last bench by the window.
"Today," I muttered under my breath, "I'm not even glancing outside. No distractions."
Easier said than done.
I was lost in my own thoughts, my notebook still unopened, when I felt a slight movement beside me.
I turned.
It was him.
Of course. Could he not leave me alone for once?
I forced an awkward smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
"Hi…"
"How have you been, Olivia?" His voice was calm, almost too calm.
"I've been good," I replied quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
His eyes lingered on me, searching, and then he tilted his head slightly.
"You really okay?"
That threw me off. There was genuine worry in his tone, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
"I mean…" he continued, lowering his voice, "you didn't show up yesterday. I wondered if something happened."
So that was it.
"Well," I said, trying to sound breezy, "first things first—I was just tired. And second, I don't even know your name. Or where you live. So…" I trailed off, awkwardly twisting the cap of my pen.
Why am I being polite? Why am I not telling him to back off?
Suddenly, he leaned a little closer and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
I flinched, jerking back. "What are you doing?"
His lips curved into a small smile.
"Checking if you had a fever. But… you seem alright."
I blinked at him, utterly dumbfounded.
"What?"
Why does he even care if I'm sick or not?
He chuckled softly.
"You look cute like this." He said, putting a strand of hair behind my ear.
That sent another wave of awkwardness crawling up my spine. My fingers fumbled with the edge of my notebook. I needed space, distance, anything.
"Actually," I said, trying to redirect the conversation, "why don't we start with your name?"
He leaned back slightly, almost amused.
"Oh, right. I never told you, did I?" His eyes caught the light as he smiled, slow and deliberate.
"My name's William."
There was something oddly formal about the way he said it, like he was giving me a gift rather than just a name.
"William," I repeated, tasting the syllables. "Nice name."
"Thanks." He tilted his head again, studying me in a way that made me want to shrink into my chair.
"And now that you know mine… what's the one thing you've never told anyone about yourself?"
I froze, caught between intrigue and irritation.
"What kind of question is that?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
He only smiled wider.
"An honest one."