Friends with Benefits

The air in the lecture hall of San Juan de Avila University always smelled faintly of expensive perfume and old parchment.

It was a suffocating mix that Khalia Salvador had learned to tune out over the last three years.

Sitting in the third row, completely swallowed by an oversized, faded grey knit sweater that hid any semblance of a silhouette, Khalia kept her eyes glued to her laptop.

Her thick, dark-rimmed glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them up with an absent-minded flick of her finger, her keyboard clicking in a rapid, rhythmic hum.

Click. Click. Click.

"Can you make that any louder, Salvador? Some of us are trying to live here."

The voice was low, smooth, and dripping with an effortless, sophisticated venom.

Khalia didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The scent of French lavender and clean linen gave her away first.

Atasha Clemente.

The university’s undisputed queen bee, a legacy student whose family name was practically engraved on the bricks of the campus library, and Khalia’s personal, living nightmare.

Khalia’s fingers paused on the keys. She turned her head slowly, meeting Atasha’s gaze.

Atasha was leaning back in her seat a row behind her, surrounded by her usual circle of nodding sycophants.

Her perfectly styled chestnut hair fell over a pristine, tailored blazer that cost more than Khalia’s monthly allowance.

Her manicured fingers played with a silver designer pen, her lips curved into a sharp, mocking smile that never reached her cold, calculating eyes.

"The lecture hasn’t started yet, Clemente," Khalia said, her voice flat, devoid of the intimidation Atasha usually triggered in others

. "If a keyboard distracts you, perhaps the problem isn't the volume. It’s your attention span."

A collective, quiet gasp rippled through the immediate rows.

No one talked back to Atasha.

It was a social death sentence.

Atasha’s smile didn't fade, but her grip on the silver pen tightened.

Her eyes narrowed, tracking the stubborn set of Khalia’s jaw.

To Atasha, Khalia was an eyesore—a walking reminder of pure, unadulterated merit that couldn't be bought with a family trust fund.

Khalia was always there, consistently holding the top spot on the dean's list, completely unbothered by the social hierarchy Atasha spent every waking hour maintaining.

"My attention span is perfectly fine," Atasha purred, leaning forward so only Khalia could hear her over the low rumble of the classroom.

"I’m just wondering how much longer you're going to hide behind those ridiculous layers, Salvador. Is it a style choice, or are you just trying to blend into the furniture?"

"I'm here to get a degree, not to walk a runway," Khalia replied smoothly, turning her back on Atasha to face the podium as the professor finally walked into the room. "You should try focusing on the syllabus sometime. It works wonders for your GPA."

Behind her, Atasha let out a sharp, quiet breath. The rejection stung more than it should have.

For months, Atasha had targeted Khalia, throwing subtle insults, ruining her group projects, and ensuring she remained an outcast.

Yet, every single time, Khalia countered with that same infuriating, icy calm.

Atasha stared at the back of Khalia’s head, her eyes tracing the messy, pinned-up tangle of her dark hair.

A strange, frustrating knot tightened in Atasha’s chest.

She hated how Khalia looked down on the world she ruled.

She hated how those oversized sweaters made her want to tear them off just to see what Khalia was hiding.

"Quiet down, everyone," the professor announced, tapping the microphone.

"Before we begin today's discussion on advanced corporate strategy, I have a major announcement regarding the Chancellor’s Elite Thesis Initiative."

Khalia sat up a little straighter. This was the project she had been preparing for all semester.

The winner received a full ride to a prestigious European graduate school.

"This year, the board has decided to shake things up," the professor continued, adjusting his glasses.

"Instead of individual submissions, we are pairing our top academic minds with our high-profile legacy students to simulate real-world corporate partnerships. I have the official pairings here."

Khalia felt a sudden, cold prickle of dread on the back of her neck.

"First pair," the professor read aloud, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Khalia Salvador... and Atasha Clemente."

The room went dead silent.

Khalia freeze-framed, her breath catching in her throat.

Behind her, the silver pen in Atasha's hand snapped against the wooden desk with a sharp, echoing crack.