Chapter 2: What Wednesday did - Ethan pov

"He was not looking for her.”

That was the important thing. He was cutting through the east corridor because it was faster. He was thinking about coffee. That was all.

 Then he turned the corner.

She was on the floor.

Not hurt. Not lost. Sitting against the wall with a notebook on her knees, highlighter in her mouth, reading something like it owed her.

She looked up. He stopped walking.

One second too long. Again.

"You," she said. Not a greeting. A verdict.

"Me." He looked at her on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"I am reading."

"On the floor?”.

"The benches were full."

"There is a whole cafeteria.."

"Too loud."

"The library?”

"Too far."

"The study room on the second…"

"Ethan. I am fine. I am on the floor by choice. Go get your coffee."

She had three color tabs in her notebook, a pen behind her ear, another clipped to the cover. She had come prepared for war.

He sat down beside her.

Not because he decided to. His body just did it. One second standing, next second on the floor with his back against the wall.

Maya shifted her notebook so it was not in his space. He counted that as a welcome.

"What are you reading?" he asked.

"Microeconomics."

"We have not been assigned that."

"I know."

"So you are reading it for fun."

She turned a page. 

"That is either impressive or concerning. I have not decided."

The corner of her mouth moved. Not a smile. More like a smile that had received a firm no and was ignoring it.

Something small and warm moved through his chest. Inconvenient.

"What does your name mean?" he asked.

She looked up.

Unhurried.

"Water," she said.

"That fits."

“Because I am calm and go with the flow?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Because you go exactly where you decide to go. Nothing stops you.”

A pause. She looked at him the way she had on the steps on Tuesday … deciding if he was performing or if he meant it.

He meant it.

She looked back at her book. Then quietly: "You have been thinking about coffee since you sat down."

"How do you know?"

"You keep looking at the vending machine at the end of the corridor."

He had not noticed he was doing that.

"I will get it after," he said.

"After what?"

He did not have an answer. She did not push for one. She went back to reading. He just stayed.

He stayed for twelve minutes. He knew because he checked his phone once, then stopped because it felt rude.

When she finally stood up, her bag was already on her shoulder.

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow," he said back.

She walked away. He stayed on the floor one more minute. Then he got up, got his coffee, and told Jake absolutely nothing.

She told herself Wednesday did not count.

It was a corridor. Twelve minutes. He sat down uninvited. She had been too deep in her chapter to bother moving him. It did not count.

Thursday counted.

She arrived eight minutes early. Sat down. Wrote the date. Did not look at the door.

She looked at the door twice.

He came in one minute before the class.

 He sat directly beside her. put a coffee on her desk.

She stared at it.

"What is this?"

"Coffee."

"Why is it on my desk?"

"You had your thinking face yesterday when I got mine and you did not get any."

It was from the good cart across campus. Not the machine. He had walked there before class for a coffee she never asked for.

"I do not have a thinking face," she said.

"You have about four faces. That is one of them."

"You have known me for four days."

"I pay attention."

She should have pushed it back. She picked it up and drank instead. Not a thank you. Not a refusal either.

The lecture started. He had a pen this time. She noticed and said nothing.

When the professor asked a question and the girl beside him answered wrong, Ethan wrote the correct answer in the corner of his notes and slid the page toward her without a word.

She looked at it. At him. He was facing forward like nothing happened.

She wrote one word under his answer and pushed it back.

“Indeed.”

She saw his mouth do the thing. That almost-smile. The one for things that caught him off guard.

She faced forward. She absolutely did not smile back.

After class he fell into step beside her the same way he had on Tuesday. Easy. Uninvited. Already familiar in a way that felt impossible.

"You never said thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"The coffee."

"I did not ask for it."

"You finished the whole thing."

"That is consumption. Not gratitude."

He stopped walking. She stopped too without deciding to.

He was looking at her the same way again. Like she was worth figuring out.

Nobody looked at Maya like that. People saw efficiency or intimidation. Not this.

It did something to her chest she refused to examine.

"Thank you for the coffee," she said. "Do not do it again."

"Okay," he said. Just that. No argument. No charm. Just okay.

She waited for the push. It did not come.

"See you on Tuesday, Maya." And he walked away.

She stood watching him go and felt like she had lost something.

Which made no sense. She got exactly what she asked for.

She walked to her next class. Sat. Wrote the date.

Then in the margin, under the Thursday she had already crossed out, she wrote:

Things that get comfortable get complicated.

She stared at it.

Then her hand moved before she could stop it. 

Maybe that is not always bad.

She closed

the notebook without crossing it out. Left it there.

She was not sure which one. Not yet. Maybe both.