The semester was winding down, but the tension wasn't.
Everyone needed an excuse to breathe. So when the university's official end-of-semester party was announced, half-formal, half-chaotic, Polished, professional, painfully coordinated. Held in a ballroom that reeked of good intentions and budget limitations.
Attendance was inevitable. Even for them.
The celebration was an exercise in controlled chaos. The ballroom glittered with cheap decorations, the air thick with the scent of overcooked hors d'oeuvres and ambition. Students milled around in business-casual discomfort, nibbling on catered hors d'oeuvres and sipping whatever faintly fizzy, non-alcoholic punch the organizers deemed appropriate.
Rinon stood near a marble column, his charcoal button-down sleeves rolled precisely twice, watching the room with detached amusement. His posture was perfect. His smile was polite. His mind? Elsewhere.
He had no interest in pleasantries, but he loathed being predictable more than he loathed small talk. So he came. He showed face. He nodded at professors and endured the chatter of ambitious classmates.
"Tell me again why we're here?" Paul Kensington asked through a mouthful of rubbery shrimp.
"Because skipping means explaining ourselves to Dean Whitmore," Rinon replied, eyes tracking a group of first-years nervously adjusting their blazers. "And I'd rather eat glass."
Paul snorted. "Dramatic. You've been spending too much time with"
"Don't say her name."
And then there was her.
Saafia.
She arrived like a tax audit, unwelcome, inevitable, and perversely impressive in her thoroughness. She wore the same black sweater dress she'd worn to every university function for three semesters running (he knew; he'd counted). Her only concession to the occasion was a single silver snowflake pin glinting at her collar.
Floating through the crowd like she owned it, sharp, glittering, and just a touch unhinged. She wasn't the prettiest girl in the room. She didn't have to be. She looked interesting. Like a problem you'd enjoy ruining yourself over.
He watched her talk to three different people without actually listening to any of them. She held a glass wrong, on purpose. Wore red lipstick that didn't smudge when she smiled.
She didn't look for him.
She didn't have to.
They made eye contact across the refreshment table. Rinon raised his cup in mock salute.
He crossed the room with deliberate calm, arriving at the refreshment table just as she reached for a canapé.
"Those are laced with disappointment," he said.
Saafia didn't flinch. "I have a high tolerance." She took a bite and grimaced. "Christ. That's criminal."
"Told you."
She turned, leaning back against the table. "Why are you here, Xiu? Don't pretend you care about networking."
"Why are you?"
"Someone needs to keep an eye on you." Her smile was all teeth. "You get reckless when you're bored."
Rinon didn't answer. Just took a slow sip of his drink and kept his eyes ahead.
She stepped into his line of sight, leaned against the same column he had claimed as his post.
"The way you sulk at social events is practically romantic."
"You say that like it's an insult."
She laughed quietly, then fell into a rare, soft silence. Not the kind that asks for attention, but the kind that invites curiosity.
Saafia's gaze turned toward the lights strung above them. "I used to hate this part," she murmured. "Everyone pretending they're going to stay in touch over break."
Rinon watched her. "And now?"
She shrugged. "Now I just hate liars."
Their eyes met.
For the first time in weeks, no riddles passed between them. No barbs. No masks. Just the thin, electric air between two people who had run out of excuses.
The music shifted to something slow and syrupy. Around them, students paired off awkwardly. Rinon watched a physics major step on his date's toes.
"Charming," Saafia murmured.
"You could always leave."
"And miss this?" She gestured to the room. "This is prime research material. Look at Paul trying to flirt with the dean's assistant. That's the face of a man who's realizing he peaked in high school."
Rinon followed her gaze. Paul was indeed floundering. "You're cruel."
"And you're entertained." She tilted her head. "Admit it. This is the most fun you've had all semester."
He didn't answer. Didn't need to. The corner of his mouth twitched.
Dr. Lowell appeared suddenly, his reindeer tie crooked. "Ms. Bin! Mr. Xiu! I was hoping to—"
"See us behaving?" Saafia interrupted. "We are. No property damage. No bloodshed. Your precious event is safe."
The professor chuckled nervously and fled.
"How dull." Saafia plucked a grape from the fruit tray.
Rinon coughed to cover a laugh.
She was close. Too close. And not backing away.
The overhead speakers crackled to life with a tinny rendition of "Winter Wonderland." Someone turned the lights down.
Saafia made a show of examining her nails. "They're trying to manufacture ambiance. How tragic."
Rinon watched a group of first-years attempt to dance. "This is worse than the Heidegger reading group."
"At least there we got to watch Paul cry."
A beat. Then, simultaneously, they muttered: "Page 72."
The accidental harmony hung between them. Rinon stiffened. Saafia's smirk faltered.
Saafia recovered first. She straightened her collar, the snowflake pin winking. "This party is dreadful."
"Worst one yet," Rinon agreed.
Then she was gone.
Back into the party.
Back into her role.
He hated her.
He hated that she didn't flinch. She just stared back, like he was one of her little games. Something to poke at. Something she thought she understood.
She didn't.
But God, she wanted to.
She didn't belong here either. Not really. But unlike him, she loved it.
Loved the performance of it. The unspoken rules. The theatre.
She found him later, after the formalities ended and the music turned from jazz ensemble to curated indie playlist.
He was standing near the back exit, where the lighting was low and nobody was networking anymore.
"You missed the photo session," she said, appearing beside him without warning.
"I wasn't planning on being seen," he replied without looking at her.
"Yet here you are."
He turned his head slowly. Raised a brow.
"Do you always narrate other people's choices?"
"Only when they're trying not to make any."
That made him smirk. Barely.
She stepped closer, her shoulder brushing his. They weren't alone, but it felt like it. The room buzzed behind them, blurred and harmless.
"You enjoy this?" he asked.
"What, the party?"
He didn't respond.
She smiled, soft but knowing.
"You're such a terrible liar."
The silence between them stretched. Not comfortable, but magnetic. Like a wire pulled taut.
Saafia's sharp features into dramatic relief - the elegant arch of her brows, the cruel curve of her lips.
"Enjoying the view?" she murmured, catching his stare.
"Just admiring the decor," Rinon countered, though his gaze never left her face.
She closed the distance between them in one fluid step. "Liar." The word brushed against his cheek like a lover's kiss. "You've been tracking me all night."
The air between them thickened. Rinon could see every detail now - the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. He cataloged each one against his will.
Then chaos erupted.
A rowdy cluster of seniors barreled past, sending Saafia stumbling forward. Her palms slapped against his chest with surprising force as Rinon's hands snapped up to grip her wrists on instinct. Their faces hovered inches apart, close enough to share breath.
Time suspended.
Her exhale warmed his lips, carrying the faintest hint of bergamot. The rapid thrum of her heartbeat vibrated against his fingertips.
Then - laughter. Low. Mocking. "Relax," she purred. "No one's watching."
Rinon didn't release her. "You really think that's the problem?."
"You're not that hard to read, Rinon." Her smile turned feral.
He should have pushed her away. Should have walked off. Instead his grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft skin of her inner wrists. "What do you want?"
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. "To see if that famous control has limits."
The challenge hung between them as the music faded to a dull roar. Every point of contact burned - her knee brushing his thigh, her fingers flexing in his grasp like a cat testing its claws.
Closer.
Closer.
Then - she twisted free with practiced ease, stepping back just beyond reach. "Relax," she said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. "Consider it a social experiment."
Rinon's hands fell empty to his sides. "Your conclusion?"
"That you're not nearly as composed as you pretend." The snowflake pin at her collar winked as she tilted her head. "And it's driving you mad that I know."
The worst part? She was right.
Saafia's smirk widened as she read the truth in his silence. "See? Not so unshakable after all."
Before he could respond, she melted into the crowd, leaving him standing exactly where she'd wanted him all along - pulse racing, jaw clenched, utterly undone..
And he stayed.
Standing exactly where she left him.
Alone.