studying with Quen in the library, I now found a quiet corner as far away from the library as possible to do my work.

I didn't want to accidentally run into Quen after I had told him I would be with Viv and Jake, so the safest bet was finding a new study place. I wasn't the type of person who needed the exact right volume level, lighting and atmosphere to be able to concentrate. I could get work done anywhere—though I just preferred my room—which was helpful when it came to exam season. It meant I could make myself focus at will.

So my only guideline as I wandered around campus on Monday morning, the week after I'd put my emotional distancing plan into action, was to put physical space between myself and Quen. Geographically, that meant going to the Business building.

The senior Business students had a horrible habit of wearing pressed, collared shirts tucked either into pencil skirts or trousers. It was like they were prepared for a job interview at the drop of a hat. I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb in my ratty high school graduation hoodie and navy sweats, but there was no rule that students couldn't study in another Faculty's building.

I slid into a one-person table, one of many pushed against the wall of a hallway. After plugging my laptop into a power socket, I pulled out my Histology textbook. To me, succeeding in cellular biology was a matter of rote learning. There was nothing too hard about understanding the structures and functions of organelles, but there was a lot of it to understand.

It wasn't like Physics or Maths at all, which only had so much you could memorise. After you knew the core principles, theorems and formulae, at a certain point you had to start relying on your own intuition when proving solutions or calculating answers. You had to feel your way through the different choices of tackling a problem—whose theorem applied best, which formula was appropriate for the given variables—with little guidance.

I could make a misstep and screw myself, for sure. But those that were good enough could do extremely well with little revision, an outcome that was impossible for everyone taking Histology, unless their memory was eidetic. Sometimes my answers to a Biophysics question would just flow, pulling all the different concepts I knew to form a cohesive solution. That was more satisfying than blurting out a paragraph of unoriginal content, and that was why my preference for Physics over Biology persisted.

After a half-hour of solid Histology revision, a person slid into the chair opposite me.

His sandy blond hair fell just above his eyebrows, and he was wearing a periwinkle blue collared shirt. I couldn't see anything lower than his ribcage, below the table, but I was completely certain he would have his shirt tucked into trousers, a neat belt around his hips and polished, laced brogues. Business majors.

"Noah," I acknowledged politely, purposefully omitting a greeting.

"Krista," he returned smoothly, his eyes twinkling amusedly. "Is the Science building getting old? I haven't seen you around here before."

Two things were made clear to me by those words. Firstly, he remembered that I was a Science major, which I'd told him once in the Topaz VIP lounge and while he had been drinking, no less. Secondly, I sat high enough in Noah's consciousness that he noticed my absence. Not good.

"A change of pace is always good."

He arched an eyebrow, but when I made it obvious I wasn't going to elaborate further, he just shook his head and hummed. "Hm."

That response was weak enough that I wasn't socially obligated to say anything else, so I just resumed reading from my Histology textbook. I still had half an hour before the Histology lecture began, so as long as Noah kept his mouth shut, I wouldn't mind him sitting there at all.

Noah was one of the people whose Instagram story I bothered to view. Quen didn't have any social media aside from Facebook, but Noah was more open and active on social media. This didn't always happen, but I would sometimes catch glimpses of Quen's day-to-day life with his friends. It was through Noah's stories that I learned which nights they were likely to hit the clubs or learned of Quen's badminton games, since Quen, Noah and Fraser were in the club together.

Thankfully, Noah was the perfect ghost. He pulled out a sleek Macbook and started typing away at something I cared nothing about. On occasion, I noticed him looking my way in my periphery, but I kept my eyes down.

I might have judged Noah too harshly. I knew from the moment I met him I could never fancy him. But just because I didn't like him, didn't mean I had to dislike him. Recoiling from any interaction was an unfounded and irrational response. It was purely subconscious, because I hated small talk and mingling.

In the name of fairness, however, I should have behaved more tolerantly toward Noah. He had done nothing bad to me. He was polite, honest and attractive. But my brain had the exact reaction to him as it did to LaCroix. Or clothes pegs.

Apathy.

We both stood up at the same time, five minutes to the hour. I slid my book and laptop into my tote bag, while Noah hooked his Macbook under his arm. He smiled wryly and said, "Riveting talk."

I had to laugh at his sarcasm, which struck right on my sense of humour. I returned dryly, "Sure was."

Part of me was impressed that Noah and I had managed to study at the same table and exchange no less than three sentences. Yet another part was pleased. No small talk.

I knew his type was aloof—leaning back and letting others initiate interaction—but I had never met him in person outside of Topaz. Aside from those nighttime encounters and our occasional dry conversations on Instagram, we'd never spoken. There was always the possibility he was a friendly, easy-going person outside of the nightlife scene and would try to talk my ear off, but it seemed he wasn't that either.

In the light of day, on campus, he was still the same as he always was. Slightly haughty, but aware of it. It was such a sharp contrast to the banter and jokes that Quen and I shared, but I can't say it was unwelcome. After all, it had been a productive study session. And at least he scored points for consistency.

"Have a good day, Krista," he farewelled.

I smiled pleasantly. "You too."

Then we parted ways, Noah towards the Business building's main stairwell and me towards the Science building.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Riley, Viv and the Jays all thought I was extroverted when they first met me.

First, I met Riley and Viv in freshman year, then Jake in sophomore year, then Jamie last year. And they had all thought I was some party animal.

It sure looked that way from my Instagram feed and my job as a promoter, so I understood why they did. Their second impression, after they found out I was introverted, was that I was confident only in my eye-catching outfits and heavy makeup and insecure any other time.

That was wrong. I wasn't introverted because I was shy or socially anxious. I was as confident in sweatpants as I was in stilettos. I could read people easily, and I knew how to handle social situations, whether they were loud, tense or over-stimulating. I could strike up conversations with complete strangers and flirt when I wanted to, no matter what I looked like. I just didn't want to.

My friends' third impression was the correct one: I was an introvert simply because I was an introvert. I knew all the social rules like an expert. I just didn't like them. They were exhausting and overly complicated. I would much rather be at home, dedicating my time to my hobbies and loved ones.

My introversion wasn't the result of anything. It just was.

I disagreed with the way people compulsively needed to grow their circle of acquaintances.

I didn't see a point in getting to know countless strangers in clubs that I would never see again.

I hated that I always had to have a smile on my face or people would assume something was wrong in my life.

"—so I told her there was no way I was asking him if she didn't either," Jo giggled as she wrapped up her story.

My lips stretched into a wide smile, though I really only zoned back into the conversation near the tail end of it. "Damn. It would have been his lucky day if both of you accosted him at the same time."

"I know!" she chirped. "By the way, are you either of you attending the Science Faculty Ball?"

My eyes instinctively shot to Quen out of habit. He ran a hand through his black hair before looking up from his laptop. When he realised both of us were staring at him expectantly, his eyes innocently widened.

"Sorry, what?" he asked sheepishly. "I got super into this YouTube video."

I told him bluntly, "SciBall. Yay or nay?"

"Reluctant yay," Quen quipped. "I felt I should go since I've never been to one and it's my last year. How about you guys?"

If that was Quen's definition of reluctant, my reaction to attending SciBall was straight abhorrent.

I could totally handle a night of drinking, dancing, and dressing up. It just rang a bell too familiar to work, so I didn't see any benefit of going. Plus, I wanted to cut back on my expenses to prepare for Med school—presumptuous as that may be, considering I couldn't say for sure that I would get into any. But the interview arrangements were rolling in from two schools that had early acceptance programmes. I had faith.

And I had lots of study to do.

But my friends were having none of that. I was attending the ball whether they had to drag me kicking and screaming.

"Same," Jo smiled. "And Krista is definitely going right?"

"Yep. I'll be there." I let out a silent sigh, which Quen noticed and arched an eyebrow at.

Riley, Viv and the Jays said we had to go as a group and celebrate our last year of college and midterm tests being over—which they would be. Friday before the fall break. They had strong-armed me into it, threatening to buy a ticket for me and split the expense if I didn't get one myself by the deadline. The thought of my friends doing that twisted my stomach into knots, so I went and bought the damn ticket. Financial blackmail.

"I bet you have some amazing dresses to choose from," Jo sighed. "From what I've seen of your Instagram, your wardrobe must be enormous."

Jo's face was the picture of dreamy desire as she talked about ball dresses and prospective ball partners. I learned, as we became closer, that she already knew exactly who and how famous I was before we'd even started this semester. She definitely wasn't angling to be my friend simply for status, but I noticed the edge of deferential awe in her voice whenever she brought up cosmetics, fashion or romance—which was strangely frequent against a Biophysics tutorial background. It was like she thought I was a cosmopolitan, Sex and the City-type protagonist.

In truth, all the clothes in my pictures to which Jo referred were either sponsored and low-quality, or rented and temporary. Or, the third option, given to Viv because she would have more use for abdomen-flaring mini-shirts than I would.

I owned one satin slip dress which I had re-used for multiple Homecomings, seasonal dances or formals. I owned an additional navy ball gown that I no longer fit anymore, seeing as my teenage metabolism had crashed to a halt and I was packing more weight around my stomach. For SciBall, I would borrow a dress from Riley, who lived close enough to her hometown that she could drive home whenever she needed to and pick up random things.

"Sadly not," I chuckled. "My formal wardrobe is a little threadbare. But if you need miniskirts, I'm your gal."

Quen and Jo laughed perfectly on cue, and we all returned to our worksheet. I let out another silent sigh, one that Quen didn't perceive this time.

Every part of the plan had worked. Over two weeks, it had gotten to the point where, if we spotted each other in Topaz, neither of us made a significant move to speak to or acknowledge each other. If we made eye contact, we'd exchange a watery smile and turn back to our respective lives.

He had never been a particularly responsive texter, but our online messaging dried up even more as he stopped sending me science-related memes and jokes. Whenever I finally noticed a new message from him, it was always about assignments and schoolwork.

We were perfectly amicable in lectures, but we weren't as close as we once were. In tutorials, Jo, Quen and I would small-talk about our lives in the pleasant, non-exclusive manner that made me hate social interaction. Like upcoming events and what I would wear, where once he would have skewered me for shipping Reylo and I would have said that it's a goddamn narrative preference, not a declaration of ethics!

But it was all fine. It was all going smoothly. Quen and I were still friends, and I had recalibrated my social life.

The only part of my plan that didn't succeed was the part where I got over him.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The Ball scenes are some of my favourite!

Someone throws up! (Place your bets here)

Quen in a suit!

Slow-dancing!!!!

See you there,

Aimee x