I stretch on my tiptoes. I’m almost there, my fingers brushing against the spine, when someone laughs behind me and I jump, my hand knocking into the book. It falls forward, nearly smacking me in the face on its way down.

I part my lips, too shocked to fully process it. What—?

A hand reaches for the book at my feet, and when I look up, Ace is standing there with mirth lining his eyes. He looks like the midnight sky, from the dark vastness of the night to the bright moon and shining stars, and it’s slowly driving me up the wall.

“You could have just asked someone for help.” He looks far too self-satisfied as he leans against a shelf, and I can’t help the indignant noise I release.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the book. I don’t wait for a response, walking past him and back to my table. As I make my way through the aisles, I curse at myself for getting riled up over nothing.

His footsteps sound behind me, and I withhold the urge to roll my eyes. At least he showed up on time today.

As I sit down, he says, “You seem tired,” while looking me over.

I am tired. But that’s too much information. I don’t want him to assume my exhaustion is because of his little Instagram spectacle.

In reality, I’m tired because I spent the better part of last night scouring the internet for better anxiety-coping mechanisms. I decided to try them out for a few days each, to see what sticks. The first one I picked was writing down my thoughts, but even if it does help, I know it won’t be instantaneous.

But I’ll always have my countdown for that. Nandini found the technique on TikTok and sent it to me a few months ago. I’ve adopted it as mine ever since.

When I look up, Ace is still watching me. I feel too hot and too small in my oversized sweater, the sleeves slipping over my wrists. After the phone call with my parents yesterday, I didn’t have it in me to wear a crop top again today.

“Thanks,” I say and point to our books. “Let’s study.”

“Hold on.” Ace disappears between the shelves. I stare after him for a moment before sighing, burying my face in my hands.

Even though I can feel my exhaustion viscerally, I didn’t realize I looked tired. I never wear makeup, mostly because I’m lazy, but I should’ve done the bare minimum and put some color corrector beneath my eyes. I’m sure Nandini would’ve let me borrow hers if I’d thought to ask. We have a similar light brown skin tone.

I shoot Nandini a text asking her to bring it tomorrow, and she immediately replies, did ace say something rude? I’ll throw hands in ur honor!!!