The classroom clock ticked past ten minutes late, and the air in the lecture hall felt heavier with every second. Students whispered, joked, and tapped their pens impatiently.

Desiree kept glancing at the door, her heart refusing to calm. He’s never late.

Her leg bounced restlessly under the desk. She tried to focus on her open notebook, but the words on the previous page blurred into a jumble. Roman was always punctual, controlled, composed. Being late wasn’t his style.

Just when she ...