Rinon stood outside the old library at 11:57 p.m., hands in his coat pockets, the collar turned up against the cold.
The building loomed like a relic. Once a centerpiece of the university, now it sat dormant its dome sagging slightly, a few windows blacked out with cardboard. No campus tours passed here. No student groups met under its arches. It was perfect.
She'd chosen it on purpose.
A soft buzz vibrated in his pocket. He pulled out his phone. A notification from a campus group chat he barely remembered joining.
🎉 Study session turned poker night! Room 4C. Bin's hosting, again 😏
Rinon's stomach curled. He scrolled up. A photo, timestamped ten minutes ago. Saafia, seated on the floor in a ring of students. She had someone's phone in one hand and someone else's cigarette in the other. Her head was tipped back in a laugh that didn't reach her eyes. A boy sat too close to her thigh. A girl leaned against her like a pillow. Cards scattered like flirtations across the rug.
He stared.
So that was it.
He looked up at the library's rusted handles. Reached for them.
Then let his hand fall.
He made it halfway home before he cursed aloud.
What the hell was he doing?
What was the point of showing up just to walk away? He'd come, hadn't he? He'd followed her voice in his head all the way here. And for what? To prove he had restraint? Discipline?
She didn't care.
No worse. She knew. She expected him to leave.
That was the game. The bait wasn't real. He wasn't special. Just another fish in her barrel.
The next day, she passed him on the quad.
No words. Just a passing glance.
But her eyes flicked to the collar of his coat the one still dusted with library lint.
A beat. Her mouth twitched.
She said nothing. Not even a smile.
That cut deeper than any jab.
In class, she slipped into her seat with her usual swagger. But this time, her attention wasn't on him. She leaned toward the boy beside her Paul, the son of a senator and whispered something that made him flush and chuckle nervously.
Rinon watched from across the room.
Paul wasn't clever. He was loud, agreeable, and too eager to be noticed. Exactly the kind of person Saafia could turn into an accomplice without their even realizing. She plucked people like flowers bright, disposable things to hold until they wilted.
Her fingers brushed Paul's hand as she took his pen.
Rinon looked away.
Later, as students filtered out, he stayed behind. Let her have her parade.
But she didn't leave.
She strolled past his desk as if by coincidence. Her perfume bergamot and smoke ghosted behind her.
He didn't look up.
"You were late last night," she said, fingers trailing along the desk's edge. "Well, almost late. Technically, you were on time. But that's worse, isn't it?"
He didn't answer.
She tilted her head. "Did you get cold feet? Or did you just figure out you weren't the only one?"
Still no answer.
She leaned closer. "I hope you know I don't offer exclusivity, Rinon. Not to anyone. That's not cruelty it's clarity."
"I didn't ask for anything."
"No," she said softly. "But you came anyway."
Finally, he met her eyes. "You play with everyone."
Saafia smiled. "Not true. I only study everyone. I play with the ones who listen back."
He didn't move.
She tapped a single finger to his desk. "Careful, Xiu. If you keep responding, I'll start thinking you like it."
He stared at her hand, then said, "Then stop."
She blinked. A pause. Then her smile widened. "Oh, Rinon. What would be the fun in that?"
She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving him alone with a storm he didn't have the tools to name.