Mia. I've always wondered if we were truly blood-related. She was everything I couldn't be at least, that's what my parents believed. My birth felt like a mistake I was constantly trying to rectify. There were expectations I couldn't meet and demands that grew heavier every day, until my parents decided I was a waste of effort. Disappointment was all that was left for me.
They were perfectionists, the kind of people who treated their children like polished trophies. They provided a life of comfort, but it came with a price too heavy to bear.
I didn't know why I was thinking of Mia and my parents that morning, my brush moving restlessly across a canvas in the art building, until a tap on my shoulder broke the trance. I lowered my headphones to find Charlie standing there with a coffee.
"Thanks. Have I told you lately that you're the best?" I took a sip and felt a wave of relief wash over me.
"Why, thank you!" Charlie did a mock bow, and I managed a genuine chuckle. I truly couldn't ask for a better friend. "By the way, you're about to be late for psychology."
I checked my watch and nearly choked on my coffee. Five minutes.
Without another word, I grabbed my bag and sprinted toward the psych building, praying for a miracle. Professor Hugh was not going to be lenient, especially since I had already skipped a lecture to avoid a certain someone.
I reached the classroom out of breath and found it completely packed. Thankfully, the professor hadn't arrived yet. I glanced toward my usual spot and felt a mental smack of frustration: there sat the guy I was trying so hard to avoid. And he was already staring at me.
There wasn't a single other seat left. His bag was perched on the chair beside him, a silent barrier he had erected on purpose. He raised his eyebrows, a clear challenge. I could feel the eyes of the other students darting between us; the last thing I wanted was a spotlight, but the clock was ticking.
I took deliberate steps toward him. I didn't ask. I just picked up his bag exactly as I had done last time and sat down without sparing him a second glance.
Professor Hugh entered a moment later, shuffling through his lecture notes while the room hummed with hushed conversations. Beside me, Liam leaned in close.
"You know you did it again," he whispered.
The scent hit me first clean, fresh, but with that dark undercurrent of tobacco. He was so close I could feel the radiator-warmth radiating off him. I felt the weight of a dozen stares from the surrounding desks.
I turned my head to give him a sharp answer, but I had forgotten how close he was. Our faces were barely inches apart. At this distance, I could see the different specks of color in his hazel eyes and the faintest, tiny mole near his upper lip, a detail so small it would have been invisible to anyone else.
The sound of Professor Hugh clearing his throat acted like a bucket of ice water. I snapped my head back to the front, my heart hammering against my ribs. I decided right then that I wouldn't speak to him again until class was over. I would wait, and then I would make things perfectly clear.
I realized how wrong I was to think he'd let me have the last word.