The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Hawthorne University’s main lecture hall, casting long golden shafts across the rows of wooden desks. Emma Harper clutched her notebook to her chest as she slipped into the back row, heart hammering. At nineteen, transferring mid-semester felt like walking into a lion’s den. New city, new campus, new everything. Her dark wavy hair fell over one shoulder, and she tugged at the hem of her short plaid skirt, suddenly self-conscious about how much leg it showed.Professor Lang droned on about modernist poetry, but Emma’s attention drifted. Two boys three rows ahead kept glancing back. The first had messy chestnut hair and a lean, athletic build. Alex, she’d overheard someone call him. His white button-down was rolled to the elbows, revealing toned forearms. The second, Jordan, sat beside him: broader shoulders, dark skin, a quiet intensity in his deep brown eyes. He wore a fitted black tee that hinted at the muscle beneath. Both
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