Night gradually enveloped the campus. The lights in the teaching buildings went out one by one, leaving only a few windows of the library still glowing.
The silence was broken only by the soft rustle of turning pages and the faint scratch of a pen.
Parin leaned against a bookshelf, twirling an unlit fountain pen between her fingers. Her gaze never left the figure not far away—
—Manida.
She was, as always, immaculate. Glasses perched precisely on her nose, hair pinned up, back perfectly straight. The light above framed her focused expression, so serene and distant she seemed more like a portrait than a person—too perfect to touch, too flawless to approach.
And the more untouchable she appeared, the more Parin wanted to get closer.
"Planning to stay here until sunrise?" Parin asked softly as she walked over, lowering her voice on purpose.
Manida didn't look up from the research papers in her hands. "If you're bored, you can leave," she replied coolly.
"You're always so unapproachable." Parin smiled and sat down beside her, leaning forward just enough to close the distance.
"Everyone else avoids you. I, on the other hand, like to stick around."
Manida's breath hitched, her fingers paused at the corner of a page. The reflection on her lenses flashed coldly.
"Like? Isn't that word a bit too frivolous?"
"Then what would you rather I say?" Parin's tone lowered, carrying a teasing warmth. "That I think about you? That I care about you? Or that I can't help wanting to touch you?"
The air tensed instantly.
Manida frowned, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes. She wanted to snap back, but her throat closed up. Something unfamiliar constricted her chest, throwing her heartbeat off rhythm.
"Parin, you'd better remember—our relationship has always been—"
"Hostile?" Parin finished for her, the corner of her lips curling. "But isn't the opposite of hostility… attraction?"
Before Manida could respond, Parin reached out and pressed her hand gently over Manida's on the table.
It was only a brief touch, but it felt like a spark falling into dry powder. Manida tried to pull away, but Parin held her fast—firmly enough to trap her, softly enough to make resistance impossible.
Her breathing grew uneven. The gaze before her was too direct, stripping her defenses layer by layer.
"Let go," Manida's voice trembled.
"What if I say… I don't want to?" Parin whispered near her ear, her breath brushing against the skin.
Manida froze. Her rationality screamed at her to push back—to remember every time Parin had infuriated her, every public argument and clash of egos.
But now, that same woman was unraveling her composure bit by bit.
The air between them burned with unspoken tension.
Then suddenly—a sharp screech of tires cut through the quiet.
Startled, Manida flinched and turned toward the window.
Outside, under the streetlight, a black car sped past, its wheels hissing against the pavement.
Parin joined her, frowning. "People drive like maniacs these days."
Manida said nothing. She watched the car disappear into the night, an uneasy flicker crossing her eyes. A strange intuition coiled tight in her chest, impossible to explain.
"What are you afraid of?" Parin murmured.
"Don't flatter yourself," Manida snapped, pushing up her glasses, forcing calm.
But her fingers were trembling.
Parin noticed. The teasing left her expression, replaced by something softer.
In that moment, she realized—beneath all of Manida's armor, there was something fragile, something fearful, even if Manida refused to admit it.
"Manida," she called gently.
Manida turned sharply, gaze cold.
"Stop carrying everything alone," Parin said, her tone low but tender. "Even you are human."
The words struck deep. Manida's heart gave a violent tremor. She wanted to argue—but no words came.
Conflict and attraction tangled in the silence.
Their boundaries were being tested, blurred, and crossed.
And far away, the shadow of that black car slipped into the night—carrying a quiet, unseen threat.