The dorm room was unusually quiet, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the faint rustle of pages turning.
Noel sat cross-legged on his bed, a textbook open in front of him and a highlighter in hand. His glasses—used only when he was truly locked in—balanced low on his nose. His focus was sharp, scanning through lines of international trade policies with the seriousness of someone preparing for war.
Across from him, Luca was slumped at his desk, chin resting on his arm, half-reading, half-daydreaming. His own business studies textbook lay open—untouched for the last fifteen minutes.
"You haven't turned a single page," Noel said without looking up.
"That's because I'm respecting the page," Luca mumbled. "Giving it time to speak to me."
Noel finally glanced at him. "You're stalling."
Luca sighed dramatically. "I don't know how you do this. I read two lines and start thinking about croissants."
"You'd better hope croissants are on the exam, then."
