The campus was quiet again that evening. The library lights glowed softly through tall windows, scattering shadows across the floor.
Parin sat by the window, a book open but unread in her lap. Her gaze kept flicking toward the door.
Soon, familiar footsteps echoed.
Manida entered, a gust of night air following her. She looked weary, removing her glasses to rub her temples. Still elegant—but faintly tired.
"You're late," Parin said softly, with more concern than reproach.
Manida smiled, sitting beside her. "The committee meeting dragged on. They never end."
"You push yourself too hard." Parin tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. For a moment, their eyes met—and time seemed to still.
Manida turned away. "If I don't work hard, how can I face my students?"
Parin was silent for a beat. Then she took her hand gently. "But you also have to face yourself."
Manida froze. The warmth of that touch spread through her chest. She didn't pull away.
Later, they walked side by side beneath the streetlights.
Parin stopped suddenly. "You carry too much pressure," she said softly. "You're not a machine. You don't have to be perfect all the time."
Manida looked at her, a faint tenderness stirring. "And if one day I can't hold on anymore… what would you do?"
Parin's answer came without hesitation: "I'd stay."
Their eyes locked. The distance between them dissolved—
Then, the screech of tires cut through the quiet.
Startled, Manida grabbed Parin's hand.
A car had nearly clipped another on the road ahead. No crash—just the echo of danger hanging in the air.
Her fingers were ice-cold. Parin tightened her grip. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."
In that instant, Manida realized—something was changing.
This was no longer rivalry. It was something deeper, more dangerous.
They walked on, still holding hands, under the trembling light.