“Controlling,” I said finally. “Obsessed. Depends on the day.”
She nodded like she’d already expected that answer.
“You always listen to him?”
“No.”
A pause.
Then she tilted her head slightly. “But you still care what he thinks.”
That hit too accurately.
I didn’t like it.
So I deflected.
“You psychoanalyze everyone like this?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
I looked at her then.
Properly.
She didn’t look away.
Of course she didn’t.
The café felt quieter suddenly. Or maybe I just noticed it more.
Her laptop screen lit her face in soft light. No makeup today. Hair messy. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like she’d forgotten she had a body outside her thoughts.
She looked… real.
Not curated.
Not campus version Rowan Hayes.
Just her.
That version made my chest feel weird for reasons I wasn’t interested in naming.
My knee was still touching hers.
Still.
I should’ve moved.
Didn’t.
Instead I said, “You always this quiet when you’re working?”
“No.”
“What’s different today?”
She paused for half a second.
