The midterm research symposium was drawing near, and tension hung over the campus like fog. Professors and students alike were busy preparing.
Manida's office was as orderly as ever, the scent of paper and ink thick in the air. She sat grading essays, the scratch of her pen steady, rhythmic—like the beating of a restrained heart.
"You've locked yourself in this little cage again."
Parin entered without knocking, holding two cups of coffee.
Manida frowned. "Have you ever learned to respect personal space?"
"And you?" Parin countered lightly, placing one cup on the desk. She leaned close—so close Manida could smell her perfume.
"Or do you secretly enjoy when I intrude?"
Manida looked up, glare sharp—but proximity dulled her edge. For a fleeting second, she saw her reflection in Parin's eyes, clear and dangerously alive.
"You—"
"Don't be so quick to refuse." Parin smiled, pushing the cup toward her. "You look exhausted. Try this."
Manida hesitated, then finally took a sip. The bitterness mingled with sweetness, silencing her.
"Well?" Parin asked, gaze unwavering. "Sometimes accepting something… isn't so terrible, is it?"
Manida's heart gave a small tremor. She set the cup down. "Don't mistake a coffee for progress."
But even she knew—her tone couldn't hide the subtle tremor inside.
That evening, they left the office together. The campus lamps lit the path, stretching their shadows long and close.
As they reached the parking lot, Parin's car waited in the corner. She was about to unlock it when she noticed a black sedan idling not far away. It wasn't moving fast—almost as if it were watching.
"Recognize that car?" Parin asked, narrowing her eyes.
Manida looked. Her face paled slightly. The same unease coiled in her gut again.
"It's just passing by," she said flatly.
"Passing by—three times in the same place?" Parin muttered, opening the car door but not getting in. "Someone's watching you."
Manida's pulse quickened. "Don't be paranoid."
Parin's tone softened. "If something really happened someday… would you let me protect you?"
The question froze her.
She wanted to say "No," but the word wouldn't come.
"You're presumptuous," she said instead, walking away under the streetlight.
Parin watched her go, eyes shadowed.
That night, Manida couldn't sleep. She thought of Parin's whisper, of the recurring black car. The unease pressed on her chest like weight.
Rationally, they were rivals—equals in competition.
But deep down, she sensed it: danger was coming closer.
"Parin…" she whispered into the dark.
Days later, at the symposium.
The auditorium was bright, packed, alive with chatter. Manida stood poised in her dark suit, calm as ever. Only she knew how strained that composure really was.
When her speech ended, her eyes wandered into the crowd.
Parin sat among the audience—smiling, gaze burning.
Their eyes met. The world fell silent.
Until a sudden roar of an engine outside shattered the stillness.
Manida's grip on her papers tightened.
Parin's expression darkened.
Danger was closing in.