Frida stared at the red sticky note in shock, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted around the library anxiously, the words burned into her mind.
"Ican give you pleasure like that."
Blood pounded in her ears as the words echoed repeatedly, louder than the hum of the air conditioner or the rustle of turning pages. Her body was sore from her horrible sleeping position the previous night.
She quietly peeped through the bookshelves out of her cozy spot into the more open area of the library, awkwardly shifting back a loose strand of hair back into her ponytail.
All around her, students were busy minding their own business, engrossed in projects and textbooks. No one paid her any attention, and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that soone was watching her.
Heat rose to her cheeks. The library suddenly felt too hot, the cool blast of the air conditioner doing nothing to calm the fire building under her skin.
Who could it be? she wondered, clutching the note tightly.
Her thoughts wrestled between outrage and sothing darker, sothing that made her stomach twist in a way she couldn't fully ignore. She swallowed hard, pushing those treacherous thoughts aside.
Who could have written sothing so despicable? she thought, ignoring the small, rebellious part of her that didn't find the words despicable at all.
She exhaled sharply, her movents jerky as she shoved her books into her bag. She needed to get out of there before she embarrassed herself further.
As she made her way to the library exit, her thoughts churned, her stomach fluttering.
Could it be a prank?
No one knew about her spot in the library. She was certain of that at least, she thought she was.
Her steps faltered. No one but him.
Her mind flashed back to a familiar face ssy dark hair, glasses perched on his straight nose, that sharp, calculating gaze that could cut a person down with just one look.
And then, just as quickly, she shut the thought down. No. It couldn't be him.
Frida's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she pushed open the heavy library doors.
The mory of him, the boy she once knew, flickered in her mind like a candle she couldn't snuff out.
They hadn't spoken since high school. Not a word. Not a greeting.
She was dead to him, and he was to her. That's how it was. That's how it had to be.
She shook her head, pushing the thought away as she stepped out into the cool evening air. The note crinkled in her hand, a reminder of the mystery that now refused to leave her alone.
The physiology lecture was a blur. Frida heard most of it enough to scribble down disjointed notes but when it ca to explaining how the blood and veins worked, especially in relation to the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems, her mind refused to cooperate.
It didn't help that hers wasn't functioning well at all.
Every ti she tried to focus, her thoughts slipped into the gutter, where they'd been stuck since the library incident.
By lunch hour, she still couldn't shake the note's impact.
At their usual spot in the cafeteria, Leah was deep into a rant about their group project. Sothing about tight deadlines, uncooperative teammates, and so guy nad Tyler.
Frida nodded along half-heartedly, but her attention drifted elsewhere.
Across the room, a very different project caught her focus.
There he was.
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