Chapter 2: You Fidget Too Much

  The west wing of the library was nearly silent by the time Mira arrived the following week. A gentle, ambient hum drifted in from the main floor—pages turning, hushed voices, a printer sputtering to life somewhere in the distance. But here, tucked between heavy shelves of literary theory and the long, worn wooden tables, it felt like another world entirely.

  Lena was already waiting. Again.

  Mira wasn’t sure how someone could sit so still. Lena’s back was straight, her legs crossed at the ankle, a pen resting delicately between her fingers. Her leather notebook y open, the neatness of her handwriting almost intimidating.

  Mira approached, carefully slipping into the chair across from her.

  “You’re consistent,” Lena said softly, not looking up. “Two minutes early again.”

  Mira gave a small, sheepish ugh. “I’m trying to impress my tutor.”

  That got Lena’s attention. She looked up—eyes steady, unreadable.

  “Are you?” she asked, her tone light but edged with something that prickled against Mira’s skin.

  “I mean—not like that,” Mira rushed out, her voice faltering. “Just, like... showing effort. Or whatever.”

  Lena hummed, low in her throat. Not amusement exactly. More like consideration. She flipped open the packet Mira had brought and tapped a finger against the first paragraph of Mira’s test essay.

  “You’re overthinking your introductions,” she said. “You talk around the point instead of stepping into it.”

  “I just don’t want to sound... stupid,” Mira muttered.

  Lena tilted her head, gaze lingering on her. “You don’t. But you ramble when you’re uncertain.”

  Mira flushed, crossing one ankle over the other. “I ramble all the time.”

  “I noticed,” Lena said, then leaned in slightly. “Even now.”

  It wasn’t teasing. But there was something in her voice that made Mira’s stomach flutter in a way she didn’t know how to handle.

  They reviewed the paper in quiet for the next few minutes. Mira tried to focus, but she kept noticing little things: the sound of Lena’s breath when she paused to think; the way she tapped her pen once, gently, when Mira said something insightful; the warmth of her gaze when she nodded in approval.

  Mira’s foot bounced restlessly beneath the table.

  She didn’t even notice until Lena spoke again.

  “You fidget too much,” Lena said, not gncing up from the page.

  Mira blinked. “Sorry. I—I didn’t realize.”

  Lena finally met her eyes. “You’re always moving. Tapping your pen. Shifting in your seat. Crossing and uncrossing your legs.”

  Mira’s cheeks burned. She looked down, gripping the hem of her sleeve. “I just... get nervous.”

  “You don’t need to be nervous around me.” Lena’s voice was gentle, but firm. “But if you can’t sit still, you won’t learn to focus.”

  Mira opened her mouth, then closed it.

  Lena’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “Sit back,” she said softly. “Feet ft. Hands in your p.”

  Mira hesitated. But her body moved before her thoughts could catch up. She adjusted, spine straightening, hands folding obediently in her p. Lena watched her do it, calm and wordless, until Mira was still.

  “That’s better,” she murmured.

  There was no teasing smile, no wink, no acknowledgment that the moment had become anything other than instructional. But Mira’s heart beat faster.

  She stayed quiet as Lena continued her notes, only speaking when prompted. And when Lena gave her the pen and told her to rework the paragraph in silence, Mira obeyed without thinking, writing slowly while Lena watched.

  The only sound was the scratch of the pen and the thrum of something heavy in Mira’s chest.

  Ten minutes passed. Maybe more.

  When Mira looked up again, Lena was watching her—not her writing, not the paper, but her.

  Mira swallowed. “Am I doing it wrong?”

  “No,” Lena said, voice quiet. “You’re doing exactly what I asked.”

  Mira gave a shaky smile. “That’s good, right?”

  Lena leaned in, just enough for Mira to feel the warmth of her breath.

  “It’s very good,” she said.

  Mira didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Her whole body felt caught between the lines of something unspoken.

  But then Lena sat back, folding her hands over her notebook.

  “We’ll meet again next Thursday,” she said. “Same time.”

  Mira nodded too quickly, already reaching for her bag. “Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

  As she stood, she almost tripped over her own chair, catching herself awkwardly on the table. Lena didn’t react. She just watched her with a quiet sort of amusement, like someone watching a ripple move across the surface of a still pond.

  Mira muttered something that might’ve been a goodbye and turned to leave, heart racing, face burning.

  ---

  Outside the library, the air was cooler than she remembered. Leaves crunched underfoot as she walked back toward her dorm, half-dazed.

  She tried to repy the session in her head, tried to tell herself it was just a normal tutoring hour.

  But all she could feel was the ghost of Lena’s gaze on her skin. The weight of her voice in her ear. The strange, coiled heat that had settled low in her stomach the moment she’d obeyed that soft command.

  Sit back. Hands in your p.

  Mira had never been so still in her life.

  And somehow, she already wanted more.