Amina (narration):
The library smelled like polished wood and old books.
Perfect for studying… if you didn’t have him sitting in the middle of the quietest corner, looking like he owned the world.
I didn’t want to sit near him.
My brain screamed: “Avoid. Ignore. Survive.”
Of course, there was only one empty chair—right next to Kieran.
Amina (under her breath):
“Figures.”
Kieran:
“You think you get away from me by whispering?”
Amina:
“I’m not whispering. You just… hear everything.”
Kieran (smirking):
“I’m observant. And patient. Unlike you.”
Amina:
“Patient? Don’t make me laugh. You’re fuming inside.”
Kieran:
“I’m not fuming.”
(voice low, clipped)
“I’m… calculating.”
Amina freezes.
Calculating? That’s worse than angry.
We open our laptops, pretending to work.
Pretending the tension wasn’t like a live wire between us.
Pretending that every glance, every slight brush of our arms doesn’t feel like fire.
For ten minutes, silence reigns.
Then a pen rolls off my table.
Amina:
“Great. Just perfect.”
Before I can reach for it, Kieran picks it up.
Kieran:
“This pen has seen better days. Probably like its owner.”
Amina (snatching it):
“I’m still better than you.”
Kieran (leaning slightly closer):
“Is that so?”
I can feel the heat from his arm.
His gaze lingers.
And I hate it.
Amina (to herself):
Why does my chest feel like it’s on fire?
We both start typing again.
Silence.
But it’s different now.
Heavy. Electric.
Then… my phone buzzes.
A message from Zayn lights up my screen.
Kieran glances.
Jaw tight. Eyes sharp.
Kieran (quiet):
“Zayn?”
Amina (typing slowly, smirk forming):
“Yes. And?”
Kieran:
“Why is he texting you?”
Amina:
“Because he’s… my friend.”
Kieran:
“Friend… right.”
(voice clipped, teeth clenched)
“Stay focused. On the project.”
Amina (mock serious):
“Wow. You’re… concerned?”
He doesn’t answer.
But his jaw twitches.
His fingers drum lightly on the table.
Subtle… almost desperate.
Amina (narration):
The rest of the hour passed with us typing, arguing over references, silently bickering—just like always.
Every time our hands accidentally touched on the keyboard, I flinched.
He flinched too.
Neither of us would look at the other.
But we both could feel it.
The tension wasn’t fading.
It was growing.
A slow burn.
Dangerous.
Terrifying.
Finally, the library bell signals closing time.
Kieran (standing, voice low):
“We’ll finish this tomorrow. Same time.”
Amina:
“Fine. But don’t think this changes anything.”
Kieran (quiet, almost inaudible):
“Of course not.”
Amina (narration):
We walked out side by side, silent.
Close, but not touching.
Yet somehow, every step felt like a challenge.
Every glance a dare.
And I realized…
I hated him.
I hated him more than ever.
And maybe… just maybe… that hate was starting to feel dangerously like something else.
Author's note;
heya this is my story
just a silly story for silly readers
i'm new to this so hope you like it
Like + comment + vote + send gifts
bye bye -_-
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