The scent of antiseptic and stale library books clung to the air, a familiar backdrop to another looping day.

Chen Miao, his head bent over a textbook, meticulously worked through a chemistry problem. I rested my chin in my hand, shamelessly staring at him, tracing the delicate curve of his jaw with my gaze. He was good-looking, in his own way, even if he wasn't one of the 'school grasses'. A dangerous urge, a ghost of old obsessions, flickered: to mark that smooth, flawless skin. I quickly suppressed it.

“You’re distracting me…” he whispered, his cheeks flushed, eyes still fixed on his book. I smiled, liking this type of red better than the alternative.

But the peace was short-lived. A sudden movement caught my eye. The librarian, whose presence had been a constant, subtle disapproval, now openly glared. “You two. This is a library. If you can’t keep quiet, then you might as well have your study date at home.”

Chen Miao’s face went scarlet. He scrambled to pack his things, shooting me a teary, mortified glare. “Don’t follow me!” he hissed, then bolted from the library, leaving me to face the librarian’s complicated expression.