(Michelle Lui's POV)
By the time I closed my last textbook in the library, I felt…
oddly peaceful.
Not ecstatic.
Not overwhelmed.
Just peacefully aware.
Classes had gone smoothly.
Physics was tolerable.
Microeconomics was surprisingly fun.
And Steven—
Steven was quietly becoming the highlight of my academic week.
I held my notebook to my chest as I walked down the polished university steps, letting the late-afternoon breeze brush through my hair. Students passed me in clusters — laughing, gossiping, complaining about assignments that hadn't even been given yet.
Meanwhile, I was floating.
Not because of classes.
Not because of grades.
Because tomorrow was Saturday.
OUR Saturday.
The one he had already asked for.
The one I already agreed to.
The one marked by a very simple, very steady promise:
"I'll pick you up at ten."
Every time I remembered that, my pulse fluttered like cheap festive lights flickering on.
And I hated — loved — that feeling.
