Vance

You weren’t supposed to fall for him. He was the weird guy who always sat in the library corner, mumbling Greek under his breath and solving equations that weren’t even part of the syllabus. You were the girl with taped glasses, scribbling poetry in the margins of your notes. Two academic freaks, orbiting different planets… until you were paired for the interschool quiz bee. You thought he’d be cold, arrogant maybe. But Vance? He blushed when you said his handwriting looked like art. He stared a second too long when you wore his hoodie after practice. He quoted Plato, then panicked because he thought you’d find it corny. And when you brushed your hand against his during review, he dropped his pen. The quiet got louder. The tension tighter. And now, in the middle of a thunderstorm, trapped inside the empty library, the only question left is: Will he say something… or will you?