We thought she was done.
We were wrong.
Lunchtime hit, and Nami and I drifted to the courtyard as usual, the sun blazing overhead, students spilling out like ants from a kicked nest. I perched on a stone bench, jabbing at my food with a fork while Nami nursed her juice box beside me.
"She's plotting," Nami muttered, eyes narrowing across the yard.
I followed her stare. There was Suhina, huddled with her little posse, not even bothering to hide it—glancing my way every few seconds, whispering behind her hand like a bad spy.
I smirked, twirling my fork. "Let her try. She's about to choke on her own bait."
Nami's grin flashed sharp. "That's my girl."
The plan was clean: let Suhina bury herself.
I coasted through the day, playing dumb—head down when she "accidentally" bumped my shoulder in the hall, a blank smile when her whispers trailed me like smoke. She was getting bolder, orbiting Arin every chance she got, dropping poison about me in his earshot.
If she thought I'd just sit there and let her rewrite the story, she was in for a rude awakening.
Last period handed me the opening. Group project presentations—perfect stage, perfect crowd. Suhina seized it like she'd rehearsed.
"Miss Sharma," she chirped, voice dripping with fake concern, "I just think it's unfair some people coast on others' work. Shouldn't we grade effort, not just results?"
Her eyes flicked to me, quick as a blade, and the room caught it.
I stretched back in my chair, arms lazy overhead. "Oh, you mean people who act all innocent but live for the drama?"
Her smile twitched, a crack in the porcelain. "I'm just saying, responsibility matters. Not everyone pulls their weight."
I tapped my chin, voice light as air. "Like when you 'helped' Arin last week? Oh, wait—that was just you trashing me behind my back, right?"
Gasps pinged around the room. A few heads swiveled.
Suhina rallied, hair flipping like a shield. "Don't be absurd, Aira. I was just warning him—"
"About what?"
Arin's voice sliced through, low and steady.
The room went still.
He'd been slouched at his desk, silent as always when the circus kicked off. Now his eyes pinned Suhina, unblinking, a quiet storm brewing behind them.
"You were 'warning' me about Aira?" he pressed, head tilting just enough to unsettle her. "Why would I need that?"
Suhina's mouth opened, then shut. She was a deer in headlights, one wrong step from the cliff.
I leaned forward, smiling like a blade. "Yeah, Suhina. Why don't you tell the class exactly what you said?"
Her hands balled into fists, nails digging in. "I was looking out for you, Arin. She's always so loud, so immature—"
"That's Aira," he cut in, voice flat. "Same as always."
Her breath caught, words dying in her throat.
"But you," he added, snapping his notebook shut with a soft thud, "you've been off lately. Everyone's noticed."
Murmurs rippled—agreement, amusement. Suhina's perfect facade splintered, her shoulders hunching under the weight of too many eyes.
Miss Sharma cleared her throat, voice dry. "Suhina, save the personal grudges for after class. Presentations, please."
The dismissal landed like a gavel, but the verdict was already in.
Whispers swelled as Suhina grabbed her notebook, face tight, and stalked to her seat—defeated, but not broken.
Class ended, and Nami pounced, grabbing my arm as we spilled into the hall. "That was art," she hissed, eyes wild with glee. "Her face—she looked like she'd swallowed a lemon whole!"
I laughed, sharp and free. "Told you she'd trip over herself."
We wove through the crowd, but my steps slowed as we passed Arin's desk. He was still there, flipping through his notebook like the world hadn't just shifted.
I almost kept walking—almost.
"You owe me a notebook," he said, not looking up.
I stopped, blinking. "What?"
He glanced at me, eyes cool but edged with something—amusement, maybe. "You keep stealing mine. Get your own."
I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Please. You love playing my personal stash."
He didn't answer, just flicked a page, but the corner of his mouth twitched—barely there, but enough.
Suhina might've crashed today, but this wasn't over.
Her silence as she'd left the room wasn't surrender—it was a promise.
And Arin? I still couldn't read him.
But something told me he wasn't done surprising me.