Chapter 7: Just the Beginning
The study room had never looked so innocent.
Same flickering fluorescent lights. Same stubborn whiteboard stains. Same lumpy chairs. But now, it held a memory that made it hard to focus.
I glanced up from my notes to find Jasmine already watching me from across the table, her pen tapping lazily against her chin.
Her hair was up in its usual messy bun, and she wore that same oversized black hoodie I’d seen her in a dozen times before—except now, it felt like a secret only I really knew.
What lay underneath.
How she moaned when I touched her just right.
How she smiled afterwards.
"You're distracted," she said with a smirk.
“Should I be offended, or flattered?”
I raised an eyebrow. "Offended that you think I wasn’t already distracted the moment you walked in."
Her foot nudged mine under the table, just enough to make me glance around.
The study room was mostly empty, but not completely. Two students were huddled near the back wall, headphones in, probably deep into revision mode.
Still, the memory of what we did here just a few nights ago made the air feel charged.
Jasmine leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper.
"Don’t even think about trying anything in here again."
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m reformed. Model student now.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
She grinned as she packed up her notes and slid them into her tote bag.
When she stood up and stretched, I caught myself staring again—she knew it, and didn’t mind. Maybe even liked it.
As we walked out of the study room together, the door shut behind us with the same soft click as before—but this time, no tension.
No uncertainty. Just a shared, satisfied kind of quiet.
The corridor lights buzzed as we made our way toward the main hall. It was almost midnight, again.
"Walk you back?" I asked.
She gave me a look. "What, scared I’ll get ambushed by some guy who thinks study rooms are for more than just studying?"
"Please, I’d be more worried about him."
Jasmine laughed, and without another word, slipped her hand into mine.
We didn’t say much on the way.
Just walked.
The path was familiar—same cracked tiles, same vending machine still out of Milo.
But it all felt different now. Not louder. Not flashier. Just... clearer.
When we reached the spot where we first bumped into each other—just outside LT11, where I had awkwardly offered her a packet drink she didn’t ask for—she stopped.
"You know," she said, glancing at the tiled floor beneath us, "I really didn’t want that drink."
"I figured," I chuckled. "You looked like you wanted to stab me."
"But…" she added, squeezing my hand gently, "I’m kind of glad you were that annoying."
We stood there for a moment, the air warm and still, the night folding in around us.
"Me too," I said softly.
She leaned in, brushing her lips against mine in a kiss that was far from rushed. No urgency, no tension—just us.
When we pulled apart, she nodded toward her block. “See you tomorrow?”
“Count on it.”
As she disappeared into the lift lobby, I stood there for a few seconds longer, smiling to myself.
It started with a late-night study session.
And maybe—just maybe—it was only just beginning.
The end