The lecture hall was packed—rows of students hunched over laptops, half-listening as the professor paced in front of the projection screen, voice steady, tapping through graphs and citations.
Noel sat in the third row, his notebook open, pen held loosely in one hand.
But the page?
Blank.
He blinked at the blank page, shifting in his seat. Focus just wouldn't stick.
"Now, as you can see here, when the market corrects itself post-inflation…"
The professor's voice faded into background noise, swallowed by the low hum of keys tapping and chairs creaking.
Noel exhaled slowly and looked down at his notes again. Wrote three words.
Then scratched them out.
His phone sat face-down on the desk beside him, but it took everything in him not to flip it over and check it.
He's not going to text again that soon. Stop being weird.
He shifted again. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.
