It was the first Monday of the semester, and the lecture hall smelled like fresh ambition, overpriced coffee, and the kind of nerves only a med school syllabus could provoke. Rows of students filled the seats in slow waves, clutching new notebooks, water bottles, and the tired hope that this year, maybe they'd sleep more than four hours a night.
Talia Quinn strolled in five minutes late, as always, her messy bun barely holding and her Doc Martens thudding with confident defiance. She never rushed—rushing was for people who cared too much what others thought. She had a loose hoodie draped over her tank top, jeans with holes she insisted were natural wear and tear, and her phone tucked in her back pocket, buzzing with unread messages she didn't plan to answer.
Most people on campus knew of Talia. She wasn't the social butterfly, more like the lone wasp—sharp, unpredictable, and best admired from afar. She partied, sure. But not because she wanted company—more because chaos soothed her. Friends? A few. Loyal. Scarce. Enough.
She didn't notice him at first.
She took her usual seat near the back, slouched and pulled out a pen only to doodle. The professor droned about course outlines and exam percentages, but it was the boy in the second row—straight-backed, note-taking, meticulous—that eventually caught her attention.
He had on glasses that kept sliding down his nose and pushed them up every few minutes with the same delicate touch, like he was afraid to disturb anything. His hair was neat. Too neat. A fresh blue ink stain on the edge of his wrist. Pre-med tattoo, she thought dryly. And he had a look about him—quiet, intense, the kind who probably color-coded his textbooks.
Nerd.
Cute nerd.
She didn't usually go for the soft ones. But something about the way he bit his lip while concentrating made her stomach do an irritating little flip.
She meant to look away. Instead, she ended up watching him for half the lecture.
And when he glanced up suddenly—meeting her gaze squarely—Talia didn't look away. She smirked.
He blinked, flushed a little, and looked down.
Hooked.
His name was Ezra Lane.
They met officially the next day in a study group she never planned to attend, only showed up because someone bribed her with bad coffee and worse advice. He was reciting the steps of the Krebs cycle like it was poetry, and she rolled her eyes loud enough for him to notice.
"You're not into metabolism?" he asked her, polite and curious, with an accidental smile that made her almost miss her annoyance.
"I'm into living through this class without dying of boredom," she replied.
He chuckled.
It surprised her.
So she stayed.
And kept staying.
Two months in, they were... something.
Not quite together, not quite apart.
He brought her extra flashcards, she made fun of his hand sanitizer addiction. She dragged him to parties, he dragged her to study marathons. They kissed once during a thunderstorm outside the campus library, and after that, it was like the air around them kept sparking, no matter how far they sat from each other.
Talia didn't do soft. She didn't do love songs or text-back-immediately relationships.
But Ezra made her want to write his name in the margins of her lecture notes.
And he looked at her like she was worth understanding, not just surviving.
Friday night was a blur.
The party was loud. Talia didn't remember how much she drank, only that her head was heavy and her thoughts heavier. Ezra had said he'd meet her there after he finished helping his lab group.
He never showed.
Some guy tried to dance with her, and she let him. She laughed too loudly. She might have kissed him. She didn't know.
All she remembered was waking up the next morning to the taste of regret and the scent of someone else's cologne on her hoodie.
Monday came.
The first class back.
She spotted Ezra walking in late. No glasses. No smile. Just… cold. Distant. Like they hadn't spent Sunday nights texting each other about dreams and anatomy and the way she hated thunderstorms unless he was near.
He sat three rows away.
Didn't look at her once.
Didn't respond to her messages.
Didn't speak her name.
Ghosted.
Talia wasn't one to chase.
So, she didn't.
She broke up with him in a message that read, "Don't worry. You're free. No hard feelings. Thanks for the flashcards."
But how can you break up with someone if you were never in a relationship?
Then she muted his contact and slipped her phone into her pocket with trembling fingers.
Because the thing about being super independent?
It didn't mean your heart couldn't crack.
Just meant you'd never admit it out loud