Chapter 56 Chemistry and charm
The lecture hall was half-empty and bathed in the kind of light that made everything look softer, the golden spill of late morning sun filtering through the blinds. Dust floated lazily in the air. It was quiet, too quiet, except for the sound of papers rustling and the faint tap-tap-tap of Lila’s pen against her notebook.
Across from her, Damian Reyes sat with a grin that bordered on infuriating. He was slouched back, one leg stretched out, twirling a pen between his fingers like the world wasn’t as heavy as it felt.
“You know,” he said finally, his voice breaking the silence, “you’ve been staring at that same line for about five minutes.”
Lila blinked, realizing he was right. Her pen had been hovering over the same sentence, rewriting it in her head without ever putting it down. “I’m… thinking,” she said defensively.
He tilted his head. “Thinking or zoning out?”
“Thinking,” she repeated, this time with more conviction.
He leaned forward on his elbows, his voice teasing. “About the essay, or about how you’re going to kill me for dragging you here early?”
She smiled despite herself, shaking her head. “You really don’t give people a break, do you?”
“Not when they look like they’ve forgotten how to smile,” Damian said lightly. Then, softer, “You’ve been too quiet lately.”
Lila’s pen stilled. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“I noticed,” he murmured, tapping the edge of her notebook with his pen. “That’s why I’m helping you. Think of this as extra tutoring.”
“Is this how you treat all your tutoring sessions?”
“Only when the student rolls her eyes this much,” he said, grinning.
She rolled them again, just to make a point.
“See? Exactly that,” he said, laughing. “You’re making progress already.”
“Progress in what?”
“I'm not frowning all the time,” he teased. “You’d think the world was ending every time you opened your notebook.”
Lila’s lips twitched, and she tried to suppress a laugh, but it slipped out anyway soft, warm, the kind she hadn’t heard from herself in weeks.
Damian leaned back, clearly satisfied. “There it is. I was starting to think you forgot how.”
“Forgot how to do what?”
“Laugh,” he said. “You should do it more.”
“Maybe you should stop being ridiculous,” she countered.
“Never,” he said, smirking.
For a moment, they just looked at each other, the kind of pause that felt heavier than words, yet strangely comfortable.
Then Damian stood up abruptly, grabbing her notebook. “Okay, we’re switching seats.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you look like you’re about to melt into that chair,” he said. “Come on, you sit here. I’ll show you something.”
She sighed but moved anyway, mostly because she was too tired to argue. He took her pen and scribbled something across the top of the page, his handwriting annoyingly perfect.
“What’s that supposed to be?” she asked.
“An outline,” he said. “You’re overcomplicating everything. Just break it down. Start with what you do understand instead of what you don’t.”
She glanced at the page, surprised. “That’s actually helpful.”
“Of course it is,” he said proudly. “I’m a genius.”
She laughed again. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I prefer charming,” he said with a wink.
“You mean insufferable.”
“Same thing.”
Lila shook her head, but her smile lingered. It felt strange to feel light again, even just for a moment.
They worked for another hour, or at least pretended to. Half the time was spent arguing about phrasing or laughing at Damian’s awful jokes. The rest was him teasing her about her serious handwriting.
At one point, he reached for her pen and their hands brushed. It was nothing, just a quick touch but her pulse jumped all the same. Damian noticed, because of course he did. His grin softened into something quieter, something she couldn’t quite read.
He didn’t say anything though, and neither did she.
By the time they finished, the sunlight had shifted with streaks of orange now stretched across the floor. Damian stretched, his shirt pulling slightly as he moved, and Lila quickly looked back at her notebook to avoid staring.
“So,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Not bad for a study session, right?”
“You were more distracting than helpful,” she said, gathering her things.
“Admit it. I was helpful and distracting. That’s a talent.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again, truly smiling. “Fine. Maybe a little helpful.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, pretending to bow.
When they reached the door, he paused and looked down at her. “You seem lighter,” he said.
“Lighter?”
“Yeah. Like you’re breathing again.”
She blinked, caught off guard by his words by the sincerity in them. “Maybe it’s just the sunlight,” she said softly.
“Or maybe it’s good company,” he replied with that easy grin.
She didn’t have a response for that.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.
She hesitated. “You never ask, do you?”
“I did. Just now,” he said, walking backward toward the exit. “That was me asking.”
“Maybe,” she said.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, already grinning as he turned down the hall.
And just like that, the empty lecture hall felt quiet again.
By nightfall, the campus had emptied out. The corridors were dim, and the sound of her footsteps echoed faintly as she made her way to her locker. The hum of vending machines filled the silence, blending with the faint smell of floor polish.
She turned the dial, waiting for the click of the lock to give way. Her hands felt cold even though the air wasn’t.
She was thinking of Damian again, of the way he made things feel easy, normal, safe even. The kind of safety she hadn’t known in a long time.
The locker door swung open.
Her textbooks, her notes, everything looked just as she’d left it. But then her eyes caught on something she hadn’t placed there.
Right at the top shelf sat a rose.
A deep red one, its stem trimmed, a few petals slightly wilted. Next to it was a folded piece of paper, edges crisp, perfectly squared.
Lila froze.
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stood there motionless. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, louder than the quiet hall around her.
No one was there. She glanced down the hallway, and it was empty. Just a flickering light at the far end.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the note. The paper was thick, slightly scented, faintly floral, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.
She unfolded it.
“You look just like her.”
“Her breath caught up.”
The words were typed in a clean, precise, and emotionless way. No signature, no smudge, not even a crease beyond the fold.
Her hands shook. For a second, she felt dizzy, the walls pressing closer.
“Just like who?” she whispered. But deep down, she already knew.
Serena, her sister? Or Ruby, her sister's best friend.
The thought slammed into her like a wave. Her mind spiraled, the same words, the same pattern. Roses, notes, messages. Always her.
She stuffed the note into her bag and closed the locker quickly, her pulse racing.
For a few seconds, she leaned against the cool metal, eyes shut tight, forcing her breathing to steady. The world had gone quiet again and painfully quiet.
It was supposed to be a normal day. Just one good day.
But normal never lasted.
The next morning, she walked into class with a headache and a forced smile. Damian was already there, leaning against the desk with his usual easy posture.
“Morning,” he said, his tone light. But his eyes were sharp and observant as he scanned her face. “You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep much,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “Studying again?”
“Something like that,” she murmured.
He studied her for a second longer but didn’t press. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to kidnap you this weekend.”
“What?”
“For a class field trip,” he said. “Photography students get to tag along for extra credit. Professor Mercer is organizing it. A whole weekend out by the lake, taking photos, pretending we’re all professionals.”
She blinked. “Are you going?”
“Yeah, and you’re coming with me.”
“I never said I would.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said with a grin. “You need air, Lila. The kind that doesn’t smell like books and panic.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told that before,” he said easily, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Good,” he said, walking backward toward the door. “Just don’t take too long. You’ll miss the sunlight again.”
Lila watched him leave, her chest tightening in that strange, warm way she didn’t know how to explain.
Maybe a weekend away was what she needed.
Maybe, for once, she could pretend the world wasn’t haunted.
But as she turned back to her bag, her gaze caught on something peeking out of the front pocket, a corner of white paper.
The note.
Her stomach twisted. She didn’t pull it out. She didn’t want to read it again.
Instead, she zipped the pocket shut and whispered under her breath, “Just one normal day.”
But somewhere deep inside, she already knew normal days never lasted long for her.