Chapter 1

Before my roommate, Chloe, left for her out-of-town internship, she solemnly pressed her barely-used, prepaid study lounge membership card into my hands.

She gripped my shoulders, her face twisted in utter heartbreak.

"Maya, this pass expires soon. Do not let it go to waste. To an academic weapon, every single second is lined with gold."

I accepted it reverently. But day after day of drowning in my books, something shameful happened: I caught feelings.

When Chloe finally finished her internship and hauled all her bags back into our dorm, I was the first to confess with starry eyes:

"I found my soulmate at the study lounge. It’s the guy who always sits next to me."

Chloe’s hand froze mid-peel over an orange. A long silence stretched between us before she spoke slowly.

"You promised you’d help me use up the card."

I nodded, practically bubbling with joy. "I did! And I scored a boyfriend in the process. Double the win."

Chloe’s expression turned extraordinarily complex. She shoved an orange slice into her mouth and mumbled around it, "Except... that guy is my cousin. I asked him to go supervise you. I was worried you wouldn't survive studying on your own."

The smile on my face froze, inch by agonizing inch.

Chloe’s cousin had to be out of his mind.

What kind of sane person agrees to such a ridiculous request? Who shows up at a quiet study lounge on the dot every day, playing the role of a silent, devastatingly attractive "babysitter"?

"A babysitter?"

My chaotic best friend, Harper, gasped so hard she nearly spit out her iced coffee. "Are you kidding me?!"

"I swear, you overachievers are completely unhinged."

My brain was buzzing so loudly I barely registered the rest of her sentence.

Harper patted my back in utter disappointment. "So it wasn’t some mutual, star-crossed campus romance after all?"

What kind of romance did you think it was?

The whole mess started because my dear roommate, Chloe, had expressed profound anxiety about my self-discipline before leaving.

As she packed her bags, she had sighed dramatically, the distrust in her eyes thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Keep an eye on him. Don't let him lead you astray."

Leaving me with that completely cryptic warning, Chloe had rolled her suitcase out the door toward her bright future.

Leaving me and her "babysitter" trapped in that quiet little study space, staring each other down.

The first time I met Logan was on a totally ordinary Monday. I tucked my phone away and asked casually, "Is this seat taken?"

He lifted his head from behind a massive, dense textbook. He had clean, striking features, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose. The gaze behind the lenses was crystal-clear, yet cool and distant.

When he smiled, the corner of his lips curved up just a fraction. "No."

"Hey. I’m Logan."

His voice sounded like iced soda—crisp, with an imperceptible touch of rasp.

He looked to be in his early twenties.

His features were sharp and defined, having completely shed the awkwardness of teenage years, hinting at an imposing, steady maturity.

What freaked me out even more was that just like me, an iced Americano sat on his desk, and he was twirling a white fountain pen identical to mine.

To be precise, it was an exact match.

Except mine had a few faint scratches on the barrel, while his looked brand-new, aloof and pristine—just like the man himself.

Logan liked peace and quiet.

He never initiated a conversation with me. Only occasionally, when I started dozing off, he would lightly tap the end of his pen against my desk.

At first, I dutifully honored Chloe’s "dying wish," keeping my head down and ignoring everything outside my textbooks.

And naturally, whenever he gave me that look—the one that screamed you are completely hopeless whenever my mind drifted—I glared right back.

After a few rounds of this, he stopped bothering to police me and just quietly focused on his own work.

If nothing unexpected had happened, we would have remained two parallel lines, coexisting in peaceful silence until Chloe got back.

The turning point came on a stormy, thunderous afternoon when I was trapped at the study lounge without an umbrella.

The figure in front of me shook out a long-handled black umbrella, droplets splashing onto the floor and spreading into a dark puddle.

"Heading home?"

He slid a warm cup of coffee across to me, his face devoid of any expression.

"It’s pouring outside. Drink something warm."

Outside the window, pelting rain and rolling thunder were waging war.

In the end, I gripped that warm cup, taking small sips, feeling a corner of my defenses crumble.

I rubbed my warm nose and awkwardly changed the subject.

"How did you know I liked this brand?"

He lowered his gaze slightly and let out a faint hum.

"Lucky guess." He paused, then added, "Guessed it from your takeout receipts."

My entire world collapsed.