The dorm was dimly lit, the soft hum of his fan filling the silence. Tristain leaned back against the headboard, laptop closed for once, and looked at her with that lazy, tired grin she’d loved since freshman year. Nyla perched on the edge of the bed, a glass of water in her hand, heart hammering. Finals had him stressed and distracted all week, but now, here, quiet, alone she could almost forget the weight of what she carried. “You know,” she murmured, letting her hand brush his, “I think you’ve been ignoring me.” Tristain chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Me? Ignore you? Never. Maybe I’m just focused on surviving finals.” “Focused,” she teased, leaning closer, letting their lips brush lightly. “Sure. Focused.” One thing led to another — laughter, whispers, hands lingering longer than they should. Their mouths met, soft and hungry, teasing at first, then more urgent, more desperate. The room felt smaller, warmer, and everything else faded. Between kisses, Ny
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