Thursday arrived faster than Kai expected. He spent Wednesday night actually reading the assigned chapters for British Literature—something he hadn't done with real attention in weeks—and making notes on things he genuinely didn't understand. If he was going to do this, he might as well make it convincing.
At 3:30 PM, Kai climbed to the third floor of the library, a section most students avoided because it housed the oldest, dustiest books and lacked the comfortable seating of the lower levels. He found Ezra at a corner table surrounded by books, so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice Kai's approach.
For a moment, Kai just watched. There was something almost beautiful about Ezra's concentration—the way he'd occasionally pause to write something in his notebook, the slight furrow between his eyebrows when he encountered something complex, the unconscious habit of pushing his glasses up. In this quiet corner with dust motes dancing in the afternoon sunlight, Ezra looked like he belonged in one of those classical paintings of scholars.
"Hey," Kai said softly, not wanting to startle him.
Ezra looked up, and Kai could see the surprise in his eyes—like he hadn't actually expected Kai to show up.
"You came," Ezra said.
"Of course I came. Why wouldn't I?" Kai set his bag down and took the seat across from Ezra.
"Most people don't keep their word when it comes to things like this." Ezra began clearing some space on the table, stacking his books with precise, careful movements. "Especially people like you."
"People like me?"
Ezra glanced up, meeting Kai's eyes directly. "Popular people. You don't exactly have a reputation for academic dedication."
It should have stung, but Ezra's tone wasn't mean—just honest.
"Maybe I want to change that," Kai said.
"Maybe," Ezra echoed.
"So, British Literature. What specifically are you struggling with?"
For the next hour, they worked through the reading. Kai had expected Ezra to be condescending or impatient, the way some smart students got when explaining things to people they saw as beneath them. Instead, Ezra was... patient. More than patient—he was genuinely good at teaching, breaking down complex themes into manageable pieces, asking questions that made Kai think rather than just memorize.
"See, when Wordsworth talks about nature," Ezra explained, his pen moving across paper as he drew a quick diagram, "he's not just describing pretty landscapes. He's arguing that nature is where we connect with something divine, something that transcends the ugliness of industrialization and society. It's almost a form of religion for him."
"So nature is his church," Kai said, the concept clicking into place.
Ezra's face lit up—the first real smile Kai had seen from him—and it transformed his entire appearance. "Exactly! That's exactly it. See, you get it."
"Only because you explained it well," Kai said, and meant it.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, working through poems and essays, with Ezra occasionally going off on tangents about symbolism or historical context that Kai found himself actually enjoying. There was something infectious about Ezra's passion for literature, the way his whole demeanor changed when talking about books and ideas.
"Can I ask you something?" Kai ventured during a break.
Ezra looked up warily. "I guess."
"Why literature? Like, you're clearly brilliant at everything, but you really light up when you talk about books. Why?"
For a moment, Kai thought Ezra might deflect or give some surface answer. But then Ezra set down his pen and considered the question seriously.
"Because stories matter," he said finally. "They're how we understand ourselves and each other. A good book can make you see the world through someone else's eyes, can make you feel less alone, can show you that your problems aren't unique.
Literature is... it's connection, you know? Across time, across cultures, across everything that normally divides people."
Kai found himself leaning forward, genuinely captivated. "That's... wow. I've never thought about it like that."
"Most people don't," Ezra said with a small shrug. "They just see required reading and boring analysis. But to me, every book is like a conversation with someone who took the time to share something important with you."
"What's your favorite book?" Kai asked.
Ezra hesitated, like the question was too personal. "You'll laugh."
"I won't."
"'The Little Prince,'" Ezra admitted quietly. "I know it's a children's book, but there's so much truth in it about what really matters in life, about seeing with your heart instead of just your eyes."
Kai smiled. "I read that when I was a kid. The part about the rose, right? About how love makes things matter?"
Ezra's eyes widened slightly. "You remember that?"
"'It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye,'" Kai quoted.
For a moment, Ezra just stared at him, and Kai felt weirdly self-conscious under that gaze.
"I didn't expect..." Ezra trailed off, then shook his head. "We should get back to the assignment."
They worked for another thirty minutes before Ezra started packing up. Kai found himself not wanting the session to end, which was strange. He'd come here with an agenda, to make progress on the bet, but somewhere along the way he'd actually enjoyed himself.
"Same time next week?" Kai asked as they stood.
Ezra paused, his bag half-zipped. "You really want to do this again?"
"Yeah, I do. You're a good teacher, and I actually feel like I'm learning something."
"Next Thursday then," Ezra agreed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "But Kai?"
"Yeah?"
"If you're just doing this to be nice, or because you feel sorry for the scholarship kid, or whatever—don't. I'd rather you just be honest and say you're not interested in studying together."
"I'm here because I want to be," Kai said, and was surprised to realize it was at least partially true. "I promise."
Ezra studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay."
As they walked down the library stairs together, Kai's phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: Making progress?
Kai glanced at Ezra, who was carefully navigating the steps, his attention on his feet rather than his phone like most students.
Another text: Don't forget what's at stake. 50k, Ash.
Kai silenced his phone and slipped it into his pocket, a sour feeling settling in his stomach.
They parted ways at the library entrance, Ezra heading toward the bus stop while Kai walked to the student parking lot where his car waited—a sleek sports car that cost more than most people's houses.
As Kai drove home through the city, he couldn't shake the memory of Ezra's smile when explaining poetry, or the way his eyes had lit up talking about "The Little Prince," or the quiet dignity in his voice when he'd asked Kai to be honest.
This was supposed to be simple. Charm the nerd, win the bet, collect the money.
So why did Kai already feel like he was the one being changed?