At six o'clock in the morning, Mira slowly stirred awake in her dorm room, her head throbbing slightly, her body heavy with drowsiness. As the fog of sleep lifted, a vague sense of urgency tugged at her thoughts. It took her a few seconds to recall that her class would begin at 10:30, and to her dismay, she hadn’t yet finished the homework.

  The memory of the previous day came back in fragments—she had spent the entire afternoon aimlessly wandering around campus, then ended up at a barbecue where things had gotten out of hand. Too much food, too much alcohol, and now, too little time.

  With a resigned groan, she shifted in bed, forcing herself upright. Her hand reached out across the blanket, patting around until it found her phone.

  As the screen lit up, she instinctively began scrolling through her notifications and emails, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. But then something caught her eye—an email from Adrian. That was unexpected.

  Curious, she opened it. Inside was several research papers, accompanied by a detailed explanation about caffeine and alcohol intolerance. Mira blinked at the screen in confusion, struggling to make sense of it.

  She tried to shake off the sleep and piece together what was going on. Was this real? Had she somehow changed her major to medicine overnight? That couldn’t be possible, could it?

  And then it dawned on her—yesterday’s night walk, the drinks, the BBQ. No matter how she tried to categorize him, his methodical and serious side was undeniably real.

  She exhaled a small laugh, shaking her head at the absurdly academic way her morning had started. What a way to kick off the day. And just like that, still in pajamas and hair a mess, she felt herself snap into study mode.

  She smiled to herself and quickly typed out a reply: “Thank you, Professor.” A little tease, of course, but also a sincere nod to the effort Adrian had put in. Stretching her arms, she leaned back in her chair, only for reality to nudge her again—her actual assignment.

  Statistics in policy.

  This week’s case study involved trade data—figuring out whether a recent export policy had actually increased revenue or just shifted the numbers on paper.

  Not the worst topic, but certainly not in her comfort zone. She wasn’t terrible at it, but “mediocre under pressure” wasn’t exactly a superpower.

  She tapped her pen against her notebook, weighing her options. Should she… ask him? Adrian was a genius, after all—this kind of undergrad-level math was probably a light snack for his brain. It wouldn't take him much time, and honestly, it might even serve as his version of a morning warm-up. He could be busy —but still, worth a try.

  A small smirk crossed her face as she opened her email app again, typed a quick message, and hit send before she could second-guess herself.

  Miles away from dorm room drama, Adrian was mid-jog, earbuds in, running his usual early loop around the edges of campus. His phone buzzed with a soft chime. Mira’s name.

  Curious, he slowed his pace just enough to read the preview, and an easy smile crept onto his face. Without missing a beat, he turned back toward campus, already adjusting his route.

  In two dorm rooms facing each other by the narrow hallway, morning began with the soft rhythm of water and the hush of shared routine.

  Adrian leaned against the cool tiles, water running down his back. A slow smile formed at the corner of his mouth, as if it had arrived on its own. Mira’s name still glowed faintly on his phone screen, tucked just outside the shower. It wasn’t much, just a quick message—but something about it made the morning feel lighter.

  They moved in rhythm—coffee brewing in one room, a towel wrapped lazily in the other. Mira gathered her hair into a loose ponytail. Adrian buttoned his shirt with one hand while flipping through his mental notes with the other.

  Just a hall apart, just a few steps away, two people getting ready for the day, unaware that their mornings had started to fall into a kind of gentle sync. And somewhere between statistics and shared glances, the day ahead already seemed a little softer.

  The hallway was still until, as if choreographed by fate or some sleepy internal clock, both doors clicked open at the same time.

  Mira stepped out, still blinking off the last traces of sleep, her oversized hoodie hanging lopsided from one shoulder.

  Adrian appeared from the room opposite, hair slightly tousled from the towel, a notebook tucked under one arm. They both paused, caught in the coincidence.

  “Morning,” Adrian said with an easy smile.

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  “Hey,” Mira mumbled, yawning a little. She scratched her head absentmindedly, completely unaware of the small, angry red bump blooming on her cheek.

  Adrian took it in, and his smile turned fond, the kind that holds laughter just beneath the surface.

  Mira narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. “What’s with that look?”

  “You should put some cream on that,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward her face. “It’s, uh… turning into a volcano.”

  “Wait—what?”

  Then, in a blur of horror and embarrassment, she vanished back inside her room, door slamming shut behind her.

  “Oh my god,” she muttered, sprinting to the mirror. There it was. Angry. Swollen. So red it could’ve been plotted on a heat map. She slapped a hand over it, groaning. “I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed. How did I forget this?”

  She rummaged through a drawer and peeled open a tiny acne patch, sticking it awkwardly onto the offending spot. It wasn’t invisible by any means, but at least it muted the volcanic effect. Barely.

  With one last breath of dignity (what was left of it), she headed to the lounge.

  Adrian was already there, sitting at the table, typing something on his tablet. He looked up as she approached, and she thought she saw the ghost of that smile again—but this time, he didn’t say a word. And for that, she was both grateful and utterly suspicious.

  They settled into the lounge, Mira pulling out a chair next to Adrian at the long wooden table.

  Mira kept her posture straight, determined not to let the whole "volcano" thing linger in the air.

  “Thanks for your time,” she said, formal enough to cover her embarrassment. “I don’t need the answers—just the steps. I tried it already, but something feels off, and I’m not sure where I went wrong.”

  Adrian nodded with his usual focused calm. “Let’s see it.”

  She opened her laptop and angled the screen his way. They leaned in together, shoulders almost brushing.

  Her code and graphs filled the screen—halfway there, but tangled. Adrian scrolled through quickly, eyes scanning. He paused, tapped the screen lightly. “Here. That’s a typo in your variable name.”

  Mira squinted. “Oh… wow, I didn’t even notice.”

  “And here,” he continued, pointing to a chunk of code, “you’re feeding the wrong input into this function. It runs, but the logic won’t catch what you need it to. So even if you don’t get an error, the results won’t make sense.”

  She watched as he explained, nodding slowly, beginning to see how her early-morning confusion had compounded into a mess. Adrian made it look effortless—like brushing lint off a shirt.

  Mira scrolled further down her screen, eyes narrowing at a few lines of code and some half-scribbled reference notes she barely remembered writing, then asked about some of the statistical terms. It wasn’t to impress him; she genuinely didn’t get it.

  Adrian, relaxed as ever, answered without skipping a beat. He leaned back slightly, gesturing with calm ease, like someone explaining how to tie a shoelace.

  Then, from the silence between their voices, her stomach gave an unmistakable growl.

  Her face flushed a deeper red than the volcano on her cheek. She coughed lightly, straightened her back, and tried to salvage the moment with a half-smile. “Uhm… the price of an unexpected day out, I guess. Early morning brain work needs a lot of energy.”

  Adrian stayed silent, watching her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. Mira cleared her throat again and stood up abruptly. “Wait here, okay? I actually have something for breakfast. Not much, but… it was given for both of us.”

  She turned and trotted off, muttering under her breath about volcanoes and stomachs with no manners.

  A moment later, she returned carefully balancing a tray with a little more pride than skill: a small stack of homemade multigrain oat biscuits, a jar of strawberry jelly tucked in the corner, and her signature herbal tea steeping in a mismatched ceramic mug.

  The biscuits were dense and golden, peppered with seeds and the kind of rustic charm that screamed "handmade with love." June had packed them with a knowing smile the night before, saying, “In case the morning brings you company.”

  Adrian glanced at the tray, then at her. “You really did receive a lot of food yesterday.”

  Mira grinned and placed the tray between them on the table. “Charming is a skill, Adrian. Some of us use it to survive.”

  He let out a soft laugh. “I’ll stick to functional skills. But I guess this is acceptable.”

  “You mean delicious?”

  “Acceptable,” he repeated, biting into a biscuit like it was a lab sample. Then, after a beat, he added, “...Maybe slightly above expectations.”

  Mira sipped her tea and gave him a knowing smirk. Breakfast, it seemed, was going surprisingly well.

  The tray sat between them nearly empty now, only a few crumbs and the last sip of tea left cooling in Mira’s mug.

  Their screens had long since gone dark, the assignment already dissected and demystified.

  Mira stretched her arms with a sigh, her body catching up to the fact that morning had well and truly begun.

  “Well,” she said, rising from her chair and brushing biscuit crumbs from her lap, “thanks again, Professor.”

  Adrian stood too, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You really don’t have to call me that.”

  “I do when you fix my entire workflow before breakfast,” she replied with a wink, then started toward the hallway.

  They walked side by side until they reached the spot where the hallway split, dividing their rooms apart, still carrying the silence of early hours. For a moment, neither moved.

  “See you later.” she said, hand on her doorknob.

  He nodded. “Don’t forget to peel off your volcano sticker before then.”

  “It’s a fashion statement now. Let it be.”

  Adrian chuckled, already halfway into his own room. “Sure. Bold choice.”

  With that, the doors clicked shut at nearly the same time—one after the other like bookends. The dorm floor fell back into its usual rhythm, unassuming, as two people on opposite sides prepared—each in their own way—for the day ahead, with numbers still circling in their thoughts, and a small, unspoken moment folded into the morning light.