If you told last week that Celestia Moreau—the girl who once asked why I had "so many boring books" stacked in neat alphabetical order—would suddenly enforce a six-hour daily study schedule, I’d have laughed in your face.
But that was exactly what happened after results dropped.
"Sit, nerd. Open the book. Read," she’d ordered that morning, pushing into my chair like a prison guard.
I raised a brow. "You do realize you don’t need to read for six hours. You’re already—"
"—first place?" she cut in with a smug smile. "Yeah, I know. But we’re aiming for matching crowns next sester, husband. You and , king and queen. Six hours. Minimum."
Her idea. Her rules.
And sohow, I found myself with a stopwatch on my desk, her curling up beside with her own pile of books.
The first day went... surprisingly well. She was quiet, focused, only pausing occasionally to tilt her head and peek at my notes. The second day was similar, though she did get distracted halfway through, tugging on my hoodie strings until I scolded her back into reading.
But by the third day, she broke.
"Six hours is inhuman," she groaned, sprawled dramatically across my bed like she’d just run a marathon. "Kai, I’m dying. My brain cells are committing suicide. I can hear them jumping."
I looked up from my notes. "This was your idea."
"Bad idea!" She rolled over, glaring at the ceiling. "Cancel it. Revoke my rights. I’m not doing six hours again."
"You lasted two days."
"That’s two days too long!" She sat up suddenly, hair ssy, shirt slipping off one shoulder. "Do you realize what kind of torture this is? My brain is built different, Kai. I don’t need to marinate in textbooks like you. I just look at a page and—boom." She snapped her fingers. "Done."
I blinked. "That’s not normal."
> "It’s called genius. Look it up."
"Photographic mory isn’t an excuse for laziness."
"It is when I’m cute." She leaned over, resting her chin on my shoulder with a sly grin. "You wouldn’t dare call your girlfriend lazy to her face, right?"
"Lazy," I said flatly.
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse ?"
"You heard ."
"You’re lucky you’re hot." She narrowed her eyes before snatching my pen. "Fine. Reduce study ti. Three hours. Non-negotiable."
"Val—"
"Three," she insisted, holding the pen hostage like it was Excalibur. "Or I’ll burn your flashcards."
"You wouldn’t."
Her smirk widened. "Watch ."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "You’re unbelievable."
"And irresistibly pretty," she added helpfully.
I shot her a look, but my lips betrayed with a twitch of a smile. She noticed, of course. She always did.
> "See? You love . Admit it."
"I never said that."
"You don’t have to." She booped my nose with the stolen pen. "It’s written all over your nerdy face."
I tried to go back to reading, but she wouldn’t stop poking my cheek with the pen until I finally grabbed her wrist and pulled it down.
"Three hours," I muttered.
Her grin was victorious, childlike, and far too satisfied for soone who had just dismantled her own system. "Deal."
"Unbelievable," I said again.
"Adorable," she corrected.
---
By the fourth day, her new three-hour plan had already collapsed.
"Break ti," she announced after just thirty minutes, shutting her book with a loud smack.
I looked at the clock. "It hasn’t even been an hour."
"Brain lting," she said seriously, like a doctor diagnosing herself. "Can’t go on."
"You’re ridiculous."
She stretched, arms over her head, shirt lifting just enough to make my eyes flicker. She caught , of course. "See? You’re not even studying either. You’re studying ."
"Because you’re blocking my notes."
"Excuses, husband." She slid closer, resting her head against my shoulder. "We should kiss instead. It’s scientifically proven to boost mory retention."
"That’s not science."
"Then let’s test the hypothesis," she said, and before I could stop her, her lips pressed to mine.
It was supposed to be a quick kiss. Except she deepened it, fingers curling into my shirt, tilting her head just so, until my book slipped from my hand entirely.
When she finally pulled back, I was breathless. She smirked. "mory boosted yet?"
"You’re impossible."
> "And you love it."
By the fifth interruption, I gave up.
"Val, this is pointless. We’ve been at it for barely an hour, and you’ve declared four breaks, kissed twice, stolen my pen three tis, and—"
"Correction." She held up a finger. "Five kisses. You’re forgetting the one when I tripped you onto the bed."
"That wasn’t a kiss, that was an ambush."
> "Still counts."
I sighed. "We agreed on three hours."
> "We agreed on surviving, Kai. And three hours isn’t survival. It’s torture."
"You lasted thirty minutes."
"Thirty-five," she corrected primly.
"Thirty," I deadpanned.
She puffed her cheeks like an actual child, then suddenly perked up. "Fine. New deal. One hour and thirty minutes. Non-negotiable."
"Val—"
"Two," she anded quickly when she saw my glare. "Okay, two. But with snacks. And breaks. And kisses. Lots of kisses."
I stared at her, trying not to smile. She noticed anyway.
"You’re smiling," she accused, poking my chest.
"No, I’m not."
> "Yes, you are. You’re doing that thing where your lips twitch like you’re fighting it."
"Delusional," I muttered.
"Adorable," she shot back instantly.
And just like that, the two-hour rule was born.
Not that we ever hit the two-hour mark. Because by the ti she’d wriggled onto my lap "for better note-taking posture" and leaned in close enough to whisper her comntary into my ear, I was too distracted to care about page numbers.
---
Later that evening, after our so-called study session ended (at exactly one hour, seventeen minutes), she lay sprawled across my bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her usual smug grin was gone.
I noticed imdiately.
"What’s wrong?" I asked softly, setting my book aside.
She was quiet for a mont, then said, "Two days."
I frowned. "What about two days?"
"That’s when I have to go back ho." Her voice was small, almost... fragile. Not bratty, not smug. Just soft. "And I don’t wanna."
I sat beside her. "Val—"
"I an, what’s even the point of going? My life’s better here. You’re here. Can’t I just..." She trailed off, then turned her head toward . Her eyes shimred, vulnerable in a way I didn’t see often. "...slip?"
"Slip?" I repeated.
"You know." She tucked her face into my pillow like she was embarrassed, voice muffled but still carrying that bratty edge. "What if my car just... broke down? Or I conveniently oversleep. Or just... never go. I an, it’s just an hour drive back here anyway. I could make excuses. Easy."
I raised a brow, trying not to laugh. "Easy? Your dad would probably send a search party. With helicopters."
She peeked up at with those wide, guilty eyes. "Not if I tell them I’m busy... studying."
I stared at her for a beat, and she wilted just a little, then quickly sat up straighter. "Okay, fine. Maybe not studying. But I can co up with sothing. I’m good at lying when I need to be."
"You’re too good at lying," I muttered, half amused, half exasperated.
Her lips twitched into a small smirk. "So you admit it’s possible?"
I sighed, running a hand down my face. She wasn’t joking, not really. Not the way she usually did. She looked like she was actually considering pulling it off, and that scared more than her ridiculous little sches usually did.
"Val," I said finally, voice quieter, heavier than before. "That’s not how life works."
"Then life is stupid," she pouted. "Why can’t it work that way? Why can’t I just... stay? With you. Always."
Her words hit harder than I expected. For once, there was no teasing undercurrent, no bratty grin to soften the blow. Just raw honesty.
"You’ll co back," I said gently.
"But that’s not the sa. What if sothing happens when I’m gone? What if you—" She stopped, biting her lip. "...What if you forget ?"
"Forget you?" I laughed softly. "Val, you’re unforgettable."
Her eyes widened a little at that. Then, slowly, she smiled. But it wasn’t her usual smirk. It was smaller, fragile, like she didn’t want to see how much it mattered.
"Unforgettable, huh?" she whispered. "That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to , husband."
"Don’t get used to it," I teased back, but my chest felt warm.
She rolled onto her side, inching closer, and rested her forehead against mine. "I hate counting down the days," she murmured. "I hate feeling like... like there’s a clock on us."
I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just pulled her closer, holding her like maybe if I squeezed tight enough, ti would pause.
For a long mont, neither of us spoke.
Then, in her typical fashion, she broke the silence with, "So... wanna make out instead of studying tomorrow?"
I huffed a laugh. "You’re unbelievable."
"And irresistibly pretty," she added automatically, the brat slipping back into place—though I could still see the softness in her eyes.
She nestled against my chest, her voice muffled against .
"Two days isn’t enough. I’ll just...slip. You’ll see. I’ll slip."
I stroked her hair, half-amused, half-heavy inside. "You’re not slipping anywhere, Val."
"Yes I am," she insisted stubbornly. "You’re my husband. Wives stay with their husbands. That’s the law."
I chuckled, even though the sound felt tight in my throat. "That’s not how laws work."
"Then I’ll make it a law," she said softly, like a vow more than a joke.
Silence lingered after that, heavy but not uncomfortable. She clung to like she was terrified I’d disappear the second she let go, and for the first ti I realized I felt the sa.
And at that mont, I knew... exams, grades, GPAs—they didn’t scare . Losing her did.
---
To be continued...
Reviews
All reviews (0)