Joren didn’t move for a full minute. His hand was back on his desk, fidgeting with his phone.
The lecturer kept talking—sothing about cultural fragntation and the death of nuance—but Joren wasn’t listening. His thoughts were loud, ssy and mildly inappropriate, though that depended on what you saw as "mild".
Zuri hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t pulled away. She hadn’t scolded him. But she’d noticed. That much was clear.
The lecture dragged on. Joren’s eyes drifted again—this ti to the clock. Ten more minutes. He could survive that.
Zuri shifted in her seat, crossed her legs and Joren’s brain short-circuited again.
He looked away. Focused on the lecturer’s tie. It was ugly but it would have to do.
The lecture ended with the usual anticlimax—no applause, no enlightened students just the sound of chairs scraping and students escaping.
Joren stretched his legs, blinked twice and tried to rember what the last thirty minutes had been about. Sothing deep. Sothing enlightening. Sothing he’d probably forget by lunch. He glanced at Zuri, she was already packing up, her movents calm and deliberate. He got up and fell into step beside her as they exited the hall.
"Coffee?" she asked like it was tradition.
"Yeah. Bean & Latte?"
"Where else."
They walked in silence at first, the campus buzzing around them. Joren’s eyes drifted—he didn’t an to but they did. Zuri’s outfit was... efficient to say the least. The skirt hugged the curves of her hip just right. The shirt frad her figure perfectly. Everything about it was balanced—nothing excessive but everything noticeable.
He looked away quickly.
Not because he was shy.
But because he was dangerously close to getting a public boner and that was not the legacy he wanted.
Zuri caught the movent and frowned slightly.
"What’s wrong?"
Joren cleared his throat.
"Nothing. Just... zoned out."
She studied him for a mont then shrugged.
"Okay."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Not awkward—just quiet. The kind of quiet that ca before a storm.
Inside Bean & Latte the usual crowd was present. Students hunched over laptops, couples whispering, baristas moving like they were possessed. Joren and Zuri placed their orders—iced caral for her, black coffee for him—and found a small table near the window.
They sat.
A mont passed.
Then it all began.
Zuri leaned forward slightly, fingers wrapped around her cup, her eyes scanning his face like she was trying to read sothing between the lines.
There was a pause. Not long but long enough to feel intentional.
"Can I ask you sothing?" she said, her voice low almost cautious.
Joren nodded, curious but slightly wary.
She hesitated again then spoke—carefully, like she was choosing each word with precision.
"This might sound weird and I don’t an it in a harsh way but... do you think of yourself as a pervert?"
Joren blinked.
The question didn’t co out sharp—it wasn’t a jab. But it landed like a slap.
His brain stalled.
His heart sped up.
His mouth forgot how to form words.
Where was this coming from?
Was it about earlier?
The almost-touch?
The thigh incident?
She didn’t look angry. Just... genuinely curious. Maybe even concerned.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said:
"No. I’m not."
Zuri’s eyes narrowed like she was trying to zoom in on sothing that didn’t quite make sense.
She took a slow sip of her drink then set it down gently, her fingers still resting on the cup.
"So..." she began, her voice steady but quieter now, "if you’re not a pervert then I guess you had a good reason for trying to touch my thigh in class?"
Joren felt the words land like a weight on his chest.
She wasn’t raising her voice. She wasn’t accusing. But the question hung in the air with a kind of gravity that made it impossible to dodge.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
What was he supposed to say?
That he wasn’t thinking?
That he got distracted?
That her skirt had caught his attention and his brain had short-circuited?
None of those sounded good.
None of them sounded like reasons.
She hadn’t raised her voice but the people around could hear their conversation. A few heads turned subtly. The gossip crowd—those students who could sniff drama like blood in water—had clearly picked up the scent. They were built for this. Trained in the art of passive eavesdropping and strategic side-eyes.
Joren could feel it. The shift. The way the air seed to tighten around him.
He could hear the whispers already.
"Did she just call him a perv?"
"He tried to touch her thigh?"
"That’s wild I thought he was chill."
Each word felt like an arrow.
He didn’t dare look around. He knew the faces—half of them didn’t even know his na but they’d rember this. They’d carry it like a screenshot in their minds, ready to drop it into group chats and hallway conversations.
Zuri hadn’t ant to start a fire. Her tone had been calm. But intent didn’t matter here.
Joren’s face burned.
He leaned in, voice low, eyes darting.
"I didn’t have a reason. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry."
Zuri looked down at her coffee, stirring it slowly.
She didn’t speak right away. Just watched the swirl of caral and cream settle into sothing still.
Then she looked up, her eyes eting his—not sharp but steady.
"Just... don’t do that again okay?"
Her tone wasn’t angry. It was asured. Like she was just trying make sure he understood.
Joren nodded.
Relieved.
Ashad.
Exposed.
The tension eased but the damage lingered. The eyes around them didn’t stop. They just got quieter. More judgntal.
He stood.
"I think I’ll head back to the dorm. I’ll see you later."
Before he could turn Zuri spoke again.
"I’m going out later. Just a little outing on Friday. You should co."
Joren hesitated.
The sha was still fresh. The air still heavy.
But he nodded.
Because maybe showing up was better than running.
He turned to the door and left, the whispers trailing behind him like a bad on.
Outside, the sun was still shining.
But it didn’t feel warm at least not to Joren.
I guess he wasn’t gonna be touching anything afterall.
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