Zemiro remained still. The silence between them grew increasingly suffocating, thin, tense, and fragile. Nazma polished her acting like a 'top-tier' CEO demanding a monthly report.
The gaze behind that mask whispered a completely different narrative. The young man did not respond immediately. He slowly adjusted his stance, allowing his previously locked joints to relax once more.
"Classification of living things?" Zemiro asked, his voice low and raspy. "That part," he recalled. "I've finished it."
The vibration rippled through Nazma's hearing. A baritone that was both soothing and intimidating. The air around her ears suddenly felt denser and warmer.
"Oh, I see," she replied. "Alright then." Nazma smiled.
"Yeah." Zemiro nodded.
The moment began to feel strange. Nazma withdrew her hand.
She took her leave. She gave a small nod accompanied by a faint curve of her lips.
"Cool. Just let me know later if anything needs to be added, okay?" Nazma said clearly.
Nazma turned her body, letting the tips of her hair linger for a moment in the air before she walked away.
A smile bloomed with every step she took.
Upon arrival, she dropped into her seat with a slight jolt. Her school bag lying on the desk suddenly became the most interesting object in the world. Nazma immediately pulled out a notebook, pretending to be busy flipping through the pages even though her eyes were not focused on the writing at all.
The air around her gradually cooled, yet the lingering warmth from Zemiro's shoulder seemed to remain at her fingertips.
Nazma clenched her fist, trying to erase that alien sensation. She took a deep breath, staring straight ahead, attempting to lock away all her emotional chaos behind a flat expression that had returned to calm. The interaction was over, but in Nazma's head, everything had just begun in a way she never expected.
Her plan to appear dominant had crumbled. She could only sit in silence with her lips slightly parted, cursing herself for losing her momentum just because of one short sentence.
Nazma was frozen. Her tongue had suddenly gone leaden, locked by the resonance of the voice that had just swept over her consciousness. In fact, she had prepared a long string of sentences to show off the assignment references that were her pride and joy.
Silence crept in again, bringing a drastic shift in how Nazma perceived the figure before her.
Initially, she had imagined this man with his sturdy posture and enigmatic gaze as the literal representation of a high-class playboy. Nazma had anticipated a meeting with a narcissistic figure who enjoyed spreading charm through sweet words or a slick, crooked smile.
The reality in this dim corner of the classroom offered a striking contradiction. Nazma witnessed for herself how awkward Zemiro appeared in his silence. He was so guarded behind his mask, far from the impression of a seducer skilled in silver-tongued flattery.
No cheap flirtations were found here.
What Nazma caught was merely a young man who seemed a stranger to physical contact, whose shoulder froze when touched, and whose aura more closely resembled sturdy fortress than a conqueror of hearts.
She leaned her back against the chair, staring at the dull classroom ceiling. The image of the playboy she had built all this time had completely shattered, replaced by the image of a blue-masked boy who was far more complex to conquer.
Nazma smiled thinly, a small smile she hid from anyone in that room. The game had just leveled up.