Back Row , Third. Seat

By the second week of classes, Rhona had a routine.

She got to Class ten minutes early, always sat in the same spot in the back row, and always had her coffee from the café where the barista called her “Queen. “Priya called it “aggressively type-A behavior for someone who claims she doesn’t like mornings,” and Rhona told her that consistency wasn’t the same thing as liking something.

“It’s called discipline,” Rhona said, sliding into her seat one morning while Priya trailed in behind her, visibly less awake.

It’s also called “you’re scared of being late and it manifesting as showing up an hour early.”

“Ten minutes.”

“An hour, emotionally.”

Rhona rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she opened her notebook.

“Okay, don’t look now,” Priya said one morning, not lowering her voice nearly as much as the words suggested she should, “but the guy three seats over has been staring at you again.”

“Priya.”

“I said don’t look.”

“You said it in a way that guarantees I’m going to look.”

Rhona didn’t look. Not right away. She’d noticed him before — hard not to, in a lecture hall that size, with him sitting close enough that she caught him at the edge of her vision more often than she wanted to admit. Dark hair, always dressed like he’d put more thought into looking effortless than most people put into actually trying. He asked sharp questions in class, the kind that made the professor pause before answering, and he had this way of leaning back in his chair like the whole room existed at a comfortable distance from him.

She’d catch him looking. Then he wouldn't be.

“It’s probably nothing,” Rhona said, mostly to convince herself. “Maybe I have something on my face.”

“For two weeks straight?” Priya raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very persistent stain.”

“Okay, unhelpful.”

“I’m just saying.” Priya shrugged. “Boys don’t usually stare at a girl for two weeks because of a snack in her teeth. What’s his name, anyway?”

“I don't know.”Priya asked

“You don't know?” Priya looked genuinely scandalized. “He’s been staring at you for two weeks, and you don’t even know his name?”

“Why would I know his name? We’ve never spoken.”

“Rhona,” Priya said it slowly, like she was explaining something to a child. “This is New York, This is law school. You are going to be in classes with this man for the next three years. At some point, you will need to know his name."l"

“Fine.”Rhona sighed, glancing — carefully, briefly — toward where he sat. “I’ll find out.”

She didn’t get the chance to ask around. The professor called on him not ten minutes later, cold-calling him about a case Rhona hadn’t even finished the reading for, and he answered so precisely, so unbothered, that half the room seemed to lean in without meaning to.

“Mr. Cole,” the professor said, nodding once, satisfied. “Good.”

*Cole.*

“His last name’s Cole,” Rhona whispered, and Priya immediately turned to stare at her like she’d produced classified information out of thin air.

“Okay, detective.”

“I didn’t do anything. The professor said it just now”.

“Still counts.”

After class, they walked out together in the loose, meandering way they always did, in no rush to actually get anywhere.

“So,” Priya said, falling into step beside Rhona, “are you going to talk to him?”

“About what?”Rhona asked curiously

“About the staring! You can’t just let a man stare at you for weeks and not say anything.”

“It’s not that deep.”

“It’s a little deep.” Priya looped her arm through Rhona’s. “If it bothers you, say something. If it doesn’t—” she raised an eyebrow, letting the implication hang.

“It bothers me,” Rhona said, a little too quickly.

“Sure it does.”

“It does! I don’t like being watched. It’s unsettling.”

“Unsettling,” Priya repeated, clearly unconvinced. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“What else would we call it?”

“I don’t know,” Priya said, grinning. “Interesting, maybe. Suspicious. A little bit exciting, if we're being honest.”

Rhona didn’t answer that. She didn’t entirely trust what she’d say if she tried.

But that night, lying in bed while Priya’s side of the room stayed quiet and dark, she found herself thinking about it anyway — the staring, the “Mr. Cole”, the particular way he’d looked almost amused when the professor called on him, like nothing in that classroom could actually surprise him.

She told herself she was only curious. That it didn’t mean anything beyond wanting an explanation for something strange.

She almost believed though.