NORA
Nora did not like the cafe.
It was too bright, too loud, too full of people who thought their futures were already waiting for them like a reserved seat.
She liked quiet rooms.
Quiet rooms were where you could control outcomes.
The cafe was where outcomes happened to you.
And Ethan was there.
With Priya.
With a printed draft on the table like he had brought his guilt out for a snack.
Nora walked past the line of students and the pastry case and the barista who looked like she was one bad customer away from throwing a muffin at someone.
She stopped at the table.
"Move," she told Priya.
Priya smiled like Nora had just handed her a gift.
"You know," Priya said, sliding her chai closer to herself but not moving her body, "I've always wanted to watch two people pretend they aren't doing exactly what they're doing."
Nora's eyes stayed on Ethan.
His posture was tense. His face was too open. His hands were on the paper like he thought it might run.
"After workshop," Nora said.
Ethan nodded.
He didn't argue.
Good.
Priya's gaze flicked between them.
"So it was you," Priya said again, softer now.
Nora finally looked at her.
"Don't," Nora said.
Priya lifted both hands. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just learning."
Nora pointed at the chair beside Priya.
"Move," she said.
Priya sighed theatrically and stood.
"Fine," Priya said. "I'll go be useful somewhere else."
As Priya walked away, she leaned toward Ethan and murmured loud enough for Nora to hear.
"Try not to die," Priya said.
Ethan's mouth twitched.
Nora waited until Priya was out of earshot.
Then she sat.
The paper on the table was titled Closer.
Of course it was.
Nora did not react.
She didn't give him that satisfaction.
"Why is Priya in your business?" Nora asked.
Ethan's eyes met hers.
"She texted me," he said.
"About me," Nora corrected.
Ethan hesitated. "Yes."
Nora exhaled through her nose.
Rule two.
Do not mention the kiss to Priya.
She hadn't.
But the room had eyes.
"You can't trust Priya," Nora said.
Ethan leaned forward slightly.
"I can trust Priya to be honest," he said.
Nora's jaw tightened.
"Honest isn't the same as safe," Nora said.
Ethan's gaze dropped to the draft.
"I needed help," he admitted.
That should have irritated her.
It did.
It also did something else.
Because Ethan asking for help meant he wasn't pretending he could win on charisma.
He was taking it seriously.
And Nora respected seriousness.
"Aldridge," Nora said.
Ethan nodded.
"He wants annotations," Ethan said.
"He wants control," Nora said.
Ethan's mouth tightened. "He wants performance. He wants us to prove we understand craft."
Nora leaned in.
"No," she said. "He wants to catch people."
Ethan blinked.
Nora tapped the paper with one finger.
"Annotations force you to name things," she said. "If you name them, you admit them. If you admit them, he can judge them."
Ethan's gaze sharpened.
"Like what?" he asked.
Nora held his eyes.
"Like motive," she said.
Ethan swallowed.
She didn't mean character motive.
She meant his.
Nora sat back.
"Don't annotate around it," she said. "If you try to be clever, he'll see the gaps. Aldridge isn't stupid."
Ethan gave a humorless laugh.
"That's comforting," he said.
Nora's phone buzzed.
A reminder.
Workshop in twenty minutes.
The air between them was too charged for a cafe.
Nora stood.
"After workshop," she said again.
Ethan nodded.
"After," he repeated.
Nora left before she did something worse.
───
Workshop was a room with rules.
Aldridge's rules.
The seminar table was long and scarred. The chairs did not match. The windows were tall enough to make you feel small.
Professor Aldridge walked in five minutes late like punctuality was a concession.
He carried a stack of papers.
He set them down.
He looked at them like they were bodies.
"I trust you all saw the update," Aldridge said.
No one answered.
Aldridge smiled.
"Good," he said. "Fear is useful."
Nora's pen tightened in her fingers.
Fear is useful.
She hated that line.
She hated that it was true.
Aldridge paced behind his chair.
"Annotations," he said, drawing the word out. "A second draft. A visible mind."
He looked around the table.
"Some of you," he said, "are very good at making the first draft look inevitable. Like it arrived in your body fully formed."
His eyes stopped on Ethan.
Then moved to Nora.
Nora's stomach went cold.
Aldridge continued.
"That is a lie," he said. "And the committee is tired of lies."
Nora kept her face still.
She did not look at Ethan.
Aldridge clapped his hands once.
"Today," he said, "we workshop the original drafts. Next week, you bring the revision with annotations."
He gestured toward Marcus.
"Marcus," he said. "Start."
Marcus read.
His story was about a family dinner that felt like a courtroom.
His sentences were clean, his structure careful, his emotion contained like it was behind glass.
Aldridge offered notes.
Priya read next.
Priya's story was sharp and funny and cruel in a way that made the room laugh and then regret it.
Aldridge looked amused.
Then it was Ethan.
Nora's chest tightened.
Ethan held his paper like he was holding himself together.
He began.
His voice was steady.
His story was about proximity.
About hands almost touching.
About a person trying not to want what they wanted.
Nora listened with her face blank.
Inside, her ribs felt like they were too small for her heart.
When he finished, the room was quiet.
Aldridge leaned back.
"Better," he said.
Ethan blinked.
"Better than what?" Priya asked, bold.
Aldridge smiled without warmth.
"Better than the version he is not reading," Aldridge said.
Nora's blood went cold.
Ethan's head snapped up.
"What?" Ethan said.
Aldridge tapped the stack of papers beside him.
"You all submitted drafts last week," Aldridge said. "You assume I do not read them until class."
He paused.
"I read them the day they arrive," he said.
Nora's stomach turned.
Ethan's fingers tightened on his pages.
Aldridge looked at Ethan.
"Your second draft is improved," Aldridge said.
Then he turned to Nora.
"And Ms. Park," he said, "your revision is a surprise."
Nora kept her expression blank.
She felt Ethan's gaze on her like heat.
"A good surprise," Aldridge added.
The room shifted.
Marcus looked between them.
Priya's mouth curved in a slow, delighted smile.
Aldridge folded his hands.
"Now," he said, "the annotations will tell me whether these improvements are craft."
He tilted his head.
"Or confession."
Nora's pen stopped moving.
She heard the rain start against the window.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
Aldridge's eyes held hers.
"Ms. Park," he said. "What changed?"
Nora's throat tightened.
Don't let it become the story.
Too late.
She swallowed.
She chose her words the way she always did.
Like stepping on stones across water.
"I stopped avoiding what the character wanted," Nora said.
Aldridge smiled.
"And what did the character want?" he asked.
Nora could feel Ethan watching.
She could feel Priya waiting.
She could feel Marcus trying not to breathe.
Nora lifted her chin.
"To win," she said.
Aldridge's smile widened.
"Of course," he said.
Then, quietly:
"And who did she have to beat?"
Nora's heart kicked.
The room held still.
Ethan's breath hitched.
Nora looked at Aldridge.
She did not look away.
"Someone worth losing to," she said.
Aldridge's eyes gleamed.
"Good," he said. "After class, I want to speak with you both."
Nora's stomach dropped.
Both.
Ethan's gaze met hers.
The rain intensified.
The room felt smaller.
And Aldridge had just closed the door.