She found her spot in the corner seat, pretending to be occupied with notes, though her eyes hadn't read a single word. Her mind, disloyal as ever, wandered-to him, little details that had quietly nested in her memory, uninvited.
She didn't want to notice him, but she did.
"Do you have the next slide?"
His voice didn't carry anything unusual-no softness, no stiffness. Just the voice of someone asking for a slide.
She passed it to him without a word.
Their fingers brushed.
It wasn't dramatic. No sudden music playing in the background. No surge of feeling she couldn't contain. Just... a touch.
Barely noticeable, unless you were her.
She didn't move her hand away instantly.
And neither did he.
A second passed-maybe two.
He took the slide, looking ahead, not at her.
But she noticed how his breath hitched-just slightly. As if he wasn't expecting that stillness either.
And somehow, in that almost-moment, everything they never said stood suspended.
Then, it was over.
He turned back to his microscope.
She turned to her notes.
And the silence returned like a familiar friend.
No one in the room noticed the shift.
But she did.
And maybe, just maybe-so did he.
Time was passing really slow for her, she was tapping her pen gently on the page, playing a random beat, eyes unmoving from the barely legible diagrams in front of her.
Her body was in the room, her thoughts anchored just enough to pass. But somewhere within, a strange calm was settling in.
It wasn't indifference.
It wasn't healing either.
It was... acknowledgment.
Of the moment. Of the silence. Of the fact that some things don't need to be resolved to be understood.
She didn't need to be seen. Not anymore.
She just needed to see herself walk through this-
unshaken.
And when the bell rang, cutting through the stillness like a clean blade, she didn't look back.
Not once.
Because for the first time, she didn't need to.