Jasmine's POV
Palmer and I stepped through the classroom doorway with our fingers interlaced, and the reaction was immediate.
A suffocating quiet descended over the room like a thick blanket. Every conversation died mid-sentence. Dozens of pairs of eyes snapped toward us, and the collective intake of breath was audible. Someone in the back let out a low whistle that stretched across the stunned silence.
I lifted my chin and gazed at Palmer with what I hoped looked like genuine adoration.
Mr. Samson, our history instructor whose perpetual scowl had carved permanent grooves into his weathered face, brought his textbook crashing down onto his desk with a thunderous bang. "Enough gawking," he commanded in his gravelly voice. "Take your seats immediately."
We gave him a respectful nod and navigated through the maze of desks toward the window seats. My pulse quickened as my peripheral vision caught sight of the far corner of the classroom.
There sat Jayden.
