*Rose*

I am still sniffling as I look at Tristan, who is looking at me with readable worry in his eyes. I know I look like a hot mess, and I can feel some watery mucus dripping from my nose. I grimace as I can imagine what he is thinking seeing me in such a state. Why am I worried about what I look like in the supposed comfort and privacy of my room?

What is he doing in my bedroom? Didn’t his mother teach him that girls’ rooms are a no-no for boys? Do I need a privacy ...