Bharath was trying to expin limits.

  Trying being the operative word.

  “Okay,” he said, voice steady, “so think of a limit as what the function approaches-even if it never actually reaches that point…”

  He trailed off.

  Because Mia had leaned forward again. Just slightly. Just enough for her arm to brush his as she worked through the equation. The contact was feather-light, casual-except he was starting to recognize it for what it was.

  A test.

  She shifted in her seat. Slowly. Deliberately. Her blouse, already unbuttoned one-too-many for decency's comfort, dipped open just enough to reveal the full curve of cleavage that had no right to exist in a Calculus study session. Her bra peeked out-a cy piece that made him lose track of his train of thought.

  Mia kept her eyes on the notebook, pretending to focus as she wrote out a limit expression. But she knew what she was doing.

  She could feel his attention wavering. Not in a gross way-Bharath was far too respectful for that-but in the way his voice tightened. In how he shifted his weight. In the way he paused, mid-sentence, like the English nguage had briefly glitched.

  Perfect.

  She remembered when moves like that would derail an entire row of high school boys in AP Chem. She’d once made a TA drop a beaker. One time a substitute teacher forgot what css he was teaching. But this? This was different.

  This wasn’t about power.

  This was about recognition.

  She wanted to know-really know-that Bharath didn’t just see her as Marisol’s younger sister. Or some charity case he was mentoring. She wanted to know that he saw her as a woman. That her presence stirred something in him. Even if he’d never act on it.

  So she kept going.

  When he pointed to the next question, she tilted her head and gave him her “confused but adorable” look. It always worked. She'd mastered it in eighth grade and perfected it by junior year.

  “Wait,” she said, frowning slightly, “can you show me that epsilon-delta thing again? It’s… just not sticking.”

  She leaned forward more this time-like she was trying to squint at the diagram-but it gave him a full, unobstructed view of her breasts pressed together, soft and generous beneath the curve of her blouse. From this angle, they looked like they were plotting his spiritual downfall.

  Bharath swallowed audibly.

  “It’s… um, about how close you can get to a value-without actually getting there,” he said squeakily, blinking fast. “So, if you pick a distance epsilon from the limit, there’s a distance delta on the x-axis that… um…”

  He stared at her notebook like it had betrayed him.

  “I-I should draw this.”

  “Yes,” she said sweetly. “Draw it out. Slowly.”

  He grabbed the pencil like it was a weapon against temptation and started sketching a basic graph. But his hands-normally so steady-were a little jittery now.

  And Mia was positively glowing.

  She crossed her legs under the table, her knee brushing his. Another deliberate contact. Not lewd-just enough. She even let her sandal dangle a bit from her toes, her foot swaying in the corner of his vision like a pendulum of doom.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose and kept sketching. “So… let’s say the limit of f(x) as x approaches 2 is 5…”

  His eyes flicked upward for a second-just a second-and caught the curve of her chest again.

  He looked away immediately, ears darkening.

  Mia bit her lip.

  He was noticing.

  He was struggling.

  Good.

  But he wasn’t being disrespectful. He wasn’t leering or making a comment or turning into the kind of boy who thought cleavage was a social contract.

  That made her want to tease him more.

  “Okay,” she said, leaning so close she was basically over his shoulder now, her breast almost brushing his cheek. “So delta is like… how close we get to the x-value, right? And epsilon is for y?”

  “Y-yeah,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “Exactly.”

  Her hair slipped over his arm. She didn’t move it.

  He adjusted his position. Crossed his legs tighter. His pencil tip snapped.

  He swore under his breath, quietly, and reached for another.

  Mia smiled like a cat in the sun.

  “Sorry,” she said innocently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I just get really close when I concentrate.”

  “I noticed,” Bharath muttered, immediately regretting how it sounded.

  She turned toward him slowly, meeting his eyes. There was a flicker of something between them-heat, humor, challenge. And maybe something softer underneath.

  He looked away first.

  She let him.

  A beat passed. Then another.

  He cleared his throat. “You really are picking this up fast.”

  “Only because you’re patient. And kind,” she said, letting her voice drop a little lower. “And apparently immune to distraction.”

  He looked like he might spontaneously combust.

  “I… I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, standing too quickly. “But yeah. You’ve done enough for today. You nailed every concept.”

  She sat back, triumphant. “So no homework?”

  “God, no,” he muttered, already grabbing his notebook. “You’re good for the week. Maybe the semester.”

  She grinned. “You remembered pizza, though?”

  “Of course,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Pizza Hut? Student Center?”

  She stood slowly, knowing full well his eyes had nowhere safe to nd.

  “Lead the way, Wild Stone,” she said, brushing past him with a bump of her hip. She wore her hoodie again and Bharath exhaled gratefully.

  And when they stepped out into the hallway and she caught sight of two girls peeking around the corner-not at her, but at Bharath-she felt something fierce stir inside her chest.

  He was wanted. Adored. Mythologized.

  But right now? He was walking beside her.

  And he had looked.

  More than once.