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I stand in the middle of the kitchen, my tea now cold, my stomach churning.

The flashcards are still scattered across the table, but I can’t even look at them.

Instead, I pace.

Around the kitchen. Down the hall. Back again.

Her words echo louder than I want to admit. And worse, they dig into cracks that were already starting to form.

I want to believe this thing with Nate is different. That he sees me. That I’m not just another face in the crowd.

But what if I’m wrong?

What if I’m just late to a game everyone else already played?

Kira walks in with a few of her coworkers, all chatting and laughing as they drop their bags by the couch.

"Hey, Mands," she says, toeing off her boots. "Meet Tara, Steve, and Jen. We’re gonna watch a movie and yell at the plot holes. You in?"

"Nice to meet you guys. Sounds tempting, but I’ve got a date with constitutional law."

Tara laughs. "Oof. You’re hardcore."

"Or just slowly dying inside," I reply with a shrug.

Kira gives me a look but doesn’t push. "We’ll keep the volume low. Text me if you want popcorn."

"Thanks, but I think I'll just go next door to study. See ya later."

I grab my bag, stuff the flashcards in, and sling it over my shoulder.

I need to study.

But more than that, I need to see him.

Even if I don’t know what I’ll say when I do.

***

I wonder if he’s home. I knock gently on Nate’s door. It opens almost immediately.

He’s fresh from practice, a faint sheen still clinging to his skin like he just got out of the shower. He’s in jeans and a fitted tee, and his whole face lights up the second he sees me.

Then dims.

"Hey," he says, voice a little more cautious now. "You okay?"

I force a smile and lift my bag. "Just tired. Long day."

He steps aside to let me in, closing the door behind me as I walk straight to my study room. I turn on my lamp and I can still smell the cinnamon candle I burned last time. I unload my things in silence, sit down, and start arranging my notes with robotic precision.

"You want anything? I’ve got hummus. Crackers. Leftover pasta. That weird trail mix you pretend to hate but always eat."

I glance up briefly. "I’m good. Thanks."

He leans against the doorway, watching me.

I flip over a flashcard.