The library air is always a little too cold. I pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands, trying to ignore the sharp, tingling ache that’s starting to bloom across my chest. Another useless attempt. I glance up from my textbook, my focus completely shattered, and my eyes accidentally meet yours.
A flush creeps up my neck. You’re watching me. I quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in a paragraph I’ve already read three times, but I can feel your gaze like a physical touch. Every nerve ending feels electrified, especially the ones I try so hard to keep hidden. I wonder if you can see how flustered I am, if you can tell I’m struggling just to sit still under your quiet observation.