?

  After the last question, Sophie stood to thank both students, her tone warm and professional. Lucas was already unplugging the mic receivers, while Jenna and Max had their heads bent over the camera gear, exchanging technical terms. James busied himself double-checking the lighting setup was fully shut down.

  The PR team moved efficiently, discussing post-production timelines and debating which quotes might headline the feature. In all the small commotion, Mira and Adrian were momentarily forgotten, still seated on the couch beneath the soft afternoon light.

  Mira sat with her arms loosely crossed, her shoulders shaking slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching uncontrollably. She turned just enough to hide her face from Adrian, but it was obvious she was losing the battle to stay composed.

  “What?” Adrian finally asked. “You’ve been suppressing that for five minutes.”

  She turned toward him, eyes bright. “I didn’t expect you to be Tremella fuciformis,” she said, barely holding back a laugh. “Now every time I eat hotpot, your face is going to be right there, floating calmly between the tofu and beef. Adrian HotPot, slowly simmering with goji berries and ginger.”

  The words sent her into laughter. She leaned forward, covering her face, trying to stay composed in the professional setting but failing completely.

  Adrian blinked. Once.

  Then very slowly, he brought one hand to his face, elbow on knee, and exhaled, long and deliberate. But the corners of his mouth betrayed him.

  “You…” he said, voice muffled behind his fingers, “…you seriously just turned this whole prodigy scholar interview into a hotpot.”

  Now he was laughing. His shoulders trembled slightly as he tried to keep it in, the kind of laugh that surprised even him.

  “I gave a metaphor rooted in neuroadaptive properties and complex polysaccharide structures,” he added, shaking his head, “and somehow, you’ve reduced me to a soup?”

  Mira was wiping tears at this point. “No regrets,” she said proudly.

  He glanced sideways at her, hand still over part of his face, the rest unreadable except for the faint lift at the edge of his lips.

  “Just remember, some mushrooms are medicinal and vengeful.” he said at last, voice dipped in resignation.

  The sun had dipped lower, tinting the sky in soft apricot and lilac, while the rooftop bustled gently with post-interview energy. Sophie was deep in conversation with James flipping through the notes they’d gathered for the next campus feature. Around them, the rest of the PR team moved in practiced rhythm, tucking away mic packs, coiling cables, easing lights back into their cases.

  Lucas hadn’t moved from his spot. He was still behind the camera, reviewing shots out of habit more than necessity. The others assumed he’d finished shooting when the last question wrapped, but Lucas liked to linger. Sometimes the best moments came after everyone relaxed.

  He paused, squinting at his screen.

  “Wait…”

  His lens, still active, was angled just right, catching a slice of the couch from across the terrace. And in it, Mira and Adrian.

  Sophie, walking past, caught a glimpse of Lucas’s screen.

  “Lucas… is that still live?”

  He nodded, surprised. “Didn’t mean to, but, look.”

  She leaned in for a better view. Mira’s shoulders were still shaking in silent laughter. Adrian had turned slightly toward her now, lips curled, eyes half-lidded but bright. He wasn’t the precise, mysterious prodigy right now. He was... young. Open. Relaxed.

  Sophie straightened up, eyebrows raised. “I’ve never seen him like that. Has anyone?”

  James looked over from his clipboard. “Seen who like what?”

  “Adrian,” Sophie said, still watching Lucas’s lens. “With Mira. Laughing.”

  Hannah turned, following her gaze. Her pen paused mid-note. “He’s laughing?”

  Lucas adjusted the camera, unconsciously drawing closer. “I didn’t even realize I had them in frame. They just stayed there. Like we weren’t even here.”

  “Don’t distract them,” Sophie said quickly. “Whatever that is, let them have it. But... keep the shot.”

  Lucas nodded, instinctively pressing the shutter one more time.

  Just then, Mira clapped a hand over her mouth, still snickering. Adrian, barely suppressing his own smirk, muttered under his breath. Lucas’s shutter clicked again.

  And this time, it caught Adrian looking at Mira, not with irritation or confusion, but something rarer. Familiarity. As if he’d known her forever. As if somehow, in this moment, she was the only person who could talk about boiling mushrooms and tofu and still get away with it.

  Sophie stepped back with a satisfied smile. “Let’s not forget to use that photo.”

  Jenna gave her a curious glance. “For the article?”

  “No,” Sophie said. “For the story that no one expected, but everyone will feel.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  ?

  Mira and Adrian, now freed from the lens, walked the team to the campus entrance. There was no rush in their pace, and though their conversation was brief, something passed between them, a shared pause, a faint smile, a gesture too comfortable to be coincidental. The PR team were still standing by the car, watching them with a kind of stunned curiosity, but neither Mira nor Adrian seemed to notice.

  They moved with a leisurely pace. usually, Adrian viewed walking as a simple efficiency calculation, Point A to Point B. Today, he matched her stride, allowing the silence to stretch, comfortable and weighty.

  An impulse struck him. A hypothesis presented itself, and he felt compelled to test it.

  Maintaining his stride, Adrian reached out and poked Mira lightly on the arm.

  She recoiled instantly. “What are you doing, Vale?”

  “You said you were a Mimosa pudica,” he said flatly, though internally, he noted the reaction time with satisfaction.

  Mira shot him a look, scandalized. “That was an interview answer, not an invitation to poke me like some science experiment.”

  “You flinched exactly like the plant.” he said, as if presenting evidence in court. “I was just confirming the accuracy of your statement.”

  “You’re so dead to me,” she muttered, brushing his hand away.

  Yet, he noticed, she stayed close. She remained right in his orbit. The realization brought a warm feeling to his chest.

  They continued until Mira kicked a stray leaf with the toe of her shoe and added under her breath, “Seriously, what kind of person pokes someone right after a professional photoshoot?”

  “What kind of diplomat compares a professional interview to… a hotpot?”

  Mira snorted. “Not the interview, you, Vale. You said you’d be a mushroom if you were a plant. That ruined the whole serious tone.”

  He looked at her, dry. “It wasn’t just a mushroom. At least remember its name.”

  “Fine. Tremella fuciformis. Satisfied?”

  “That’s better,” he said, like it was a point scored. “I’d hate to be misrepresented in a plant analogy.”

  “And I’d hate to be poked like a sensitive weed.” Mira said.

  Then, turning her head sharply, glaring at him. “Where is the composed, polite prodigy everyone worships? Are you faking your image, Adrian Vale?”

  He almost smirked. The 'composed prodigy' served as a shield for the rest of the world. He felt entirely open right now.

  “I don’t have to fake anything with a Mimosa pudica.”

  She stopped walking for half a step, then caught up with a huff. “Stop calling me that.”

  Adrian only shrugged, maddeningly calm. “That’s the plant you chose. I’m just being accurate.”

  Without thinking, she reached out and gave his arm a quick pinch , just enough to make a point. “Seriously, Adrian.”

  He blinked, genuinely surprised for a second. Then a grin pulled at the edge of his lips. “Did you just attack a UN consultant?”

  “Oh my god,” Mira groaned, exasperated. “Which UN consultant clings to a joke this ridiculous?”

  Adrian answered, clearly entertained. “I’m just persistent. Precision matters.”

  “Adrian,” she warned, voice firm but already unraveling at the edges with disbelief, “I’ll say it one last time, if you don’t drop it…”

  He slowed his steps just enough to give her a mischievous look. “Then what?”

  She crossed her arms. “Then I’ll call for an emergency student council meeting and officially accuse a UN consultant of bullying a Mimosa pudica. With evidence. Public outrage. A petition.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “Mm. Scandalous.”

  “Also,” she continued, stepping ahead of him with exaggerated authority, “we’ll vote to cook him in a hotpot. Ethically, of course. With consent. Maybe a side of tofu.”

  Adrian gave a short laugh, low and real, the kind that turned heads in a room simply because it was so rare. “Creative prosecution.”

  “Consider yourself warned,” she said, lips twitching.

  From the entrance far behind, Sophie adjusted the strap of her bag, her sharp eyes following them. “Okay, someone tell me,” she said under her breath, mostly to herself but loud enough for everyone to notice.

  “Are those two dating and pretending not to? Because no one would believe me unless they saw it with their own eyes, that Adrian Vale can actually laugh. And talk. And with a girl.”

  Lucas smirked as he reviewed his shots on the small digital screen. “Well, the lens doesn’t lie. Whatever that was, it’ll come through.”

  Sophie clutched her notepad tighter, a spark of mischief in her voice. “This is gold. If I write a side feature on this, subtle, tasteful, signature piece, it’d go viral.”

  Before she could ramble further, James turned to her, his tone measured but pointed. “Touch one word outside the agreement and we’re rewriting an apology and a settlement clause. He probably predicted we’d try.”

  “I know, I know,” she muttered, “the non-disclosure, the pre-approvals, the compensation clause if we mess up, yeah. It’s just... they had chemistry. Real chemistry. Even if they don’t know it yet.”

  James gave a soft sigh. “That might be. But Vale’s family is the university’s top sponsor. We don’t take risks.”

  Sophie didn’t argue, but her eyes haven’t left the pair disappearing back toward the east wing of campus, Adrian, immaculate in black, and Mira, unbothered by the weight of her newfound attention. They didn’t look back once.

  Still, Sophie muttered under her breath, half-smiling, “Just saying, if this isn’t a story yet, it will be one day.”

  ?

  They climbed the last flight of stairs. Adrian kept his pace slow, matching hers. The logical part of his brain listed work, emails, research. The other part, currently enjoying the aftertaste of their laughter, wished the staircase continued further.

  But they arrived. Mira adjusted her blouse, turning toward her room.

  Adrian slowed just a little. He felt a distinct urge to provoke a final reaction. Just one more data point.

  She caught his expression immediately.

  “Adrian,” she said, narrowing her eyes, already knowing what was coming. “Don’t.”

  His smile deepened. He felt uncharacteristically boyish, stripped of his usual heavy responsibilities.

  “Bye, Mimosa,” he said lightly.

  She stopped, let out a breath somewhere between a scoff and a groan, then turned to face him again.

  “You know what? I shouldn’t have accepted that interview,” she said. “Or, maybe I should just email Sophie right now and ask her to add an extra confession about the real face of Adrian Vale.”

  Adrian blinked, then burst out laughing.

  “You’re unbelievable,” he managed, eyes gleaming with something between exasperation and laughter. “Seriously, Mira. You’re the one trying to end this, and yet somehow, you keep leading us into another joke.”

  “I’m not joking,” she said, turning fully now, lips pursed in a determined pout. “I’m writing that email to Sophie right now. Just wait and see.”

  With that, she opened her door and disappeared inside, leaving Adrian still standing in the hallway.

  He stayed there for a second, grinning at the closed door, like he wasn’t sure whether to knock and tease her again or just stand there and laugh.

  He ended up shaking his head, the closest he'd come to admitting defeat, realizing that no matter how much control he usually had over his expression, with Mira, it was hopeless.

  Behind the door, Mira leaned back against it, arms crossed, still wearing that same pout, except now it was slowly melting into a reluctant smile. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then covered her face with her hands.

  All that, from the entrance to the fifth floor.

  Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet… she could feel the laughter bubbling up anyway.

  ?

  Curious about the private interview Adrian wouldn’t let any official agency touch—maybe even a quiet hint about his type? I’ll share it at the end of each volume. If I get 10 yes, you’ll get to understand him a little better, beyond what the main story shows.