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I flinch at his inquiry. The reminder that my life is not my own is like a bucket of ice water over my head.

That’s what you get for pretending you’re a normal college student.

“Everything okay, Eva?” Markus probes.

Seeing his worry, I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying to buy myself time and control my emotions. I take a deep breath and attempt to smile before I answer. “Everything’s fine. I caught a chill,” I lie. “I’m actually a history major. I also just really love art.”

“Ah. I can understand that.” Markus thinks for a moment before he continues, “Why not art history? That way, you can have the best of both worlds.”

If only I deserved that option.

“Maybe,” I mumble before shifting the attention back to him. “What’s your major?”

“Art therapy.”

The tense set of my shoulders eases once I realize he won’t push, and I register his response.

My lips part, ready to ask questions when we’re interrupted.

“Eva.”

I stop, stepping out of the way to turn and see who’s calling me.

Liam is standing in the hall, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I speak to you for a minute?” he requests.

My hands clench at my side, annoyed he has the audacity to ask anything of me after our last interaction.

“I just need a chance to apologize,” Liam blurts.

Sighing, I peer over at Markus. “I’ll shoot you a message later.”

Markus’s neck oscillates, observing the tension crackling between Liam and me before he smiles. “Can’t wait.”

Then he departs, and I face Liam. He remains quiet as a few people pass by. “Well?”

“I’m sorry,” Liam begins, escorting us out of the way. “My behavior was uncalled for. I overreacted, and for that, I apologize.

Adjusting my backpack, I hiss, “Is that all?”

Liam’s brown eyes widen in surprise. All my earlier sadness melts in the anger still lingering underneath my skin.

“What? Did you think you’d say sorry, and I would smile prettily and forgive you?” I scoff. “Your reprehensible behavior was beyond repugnant. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

His mouth opens and closes like his brain can’t compute. “I—” he begins, and I cut him off.

“Save it,” I exclaim, and he grits his teeth. “I don’t want to hear your woe is me, somebody stole my homework and spit in my coffee, so I’m having a bad day bullshit excuse.”

Refusing to give him another moment to lament, I storm past him, stepping outside. I barely make it five steps before I slam into an immovable force.

“Fuck,” I blurt.

“Shit,” someone mutters.

I stare up and then further up, angling my head to gaze into similar coffee eyes. The guy from the advisor’s office stands before me in black jogging shorts, a Groveton soccer t-shirt, and sneakers.

“My bad,” his baritone voice offers, holding onto my wrist to prevent me from falling. “I should’ve been paying better attention.”

Offering him a small smile, I state, “No. It was me who crashed into you. I’m sorry.”