After the last bell, the school slowly starts to quiet down. The hallways are still buzzing, but it’s not the same chaos as between classes — more like the tired hum of after-school life.

Nick and Marisa meet, a little awkwardly, by the entrance to the library. Each is holding a thick notebook and a pen. For a moment, they just stand there, unsure who should speak first, until Marisa tilts her head toward the door. Without a word, they walk inside.

The library is hushed. The lady at the desk gives them a quick nod without even looking up from her screen. They head for the farthest corner, where a tall window looks out onto the school’s courtyard. Outside — jasmine bushes, green leaves, and the sky heavy with spring sunlight.

Nick drops his bag onto the floor and sits across from Marisa. For a few seconds, they both stay quiet, like neither of them wants to make the first move.

“Feels kinda weird, doesn’t it?” Nick says at last, forcing a small smile. “I’m usually here alone.”

“And I usually don’t come here at all,” Marisa replies, lowering her eyes with a faint smile.

“Math’s… not really your thing, huh?” His tone is cautious, not judgmental.

“Not at all,” she sighs. “But I try. It’s just… numbers sometimes turn into fog.”

 “Good thing I’m not scared of fog,” Nick grins, this time for real.

 Their conversation drifts on — light, unhurried, like they’re trying to get to know each other without pushing

“Have you ever wanted to just… run away?” Nick blurts out suddenly. “Pack your stuff and leave for somewhere no one knows you?”

“Every single day,” Marisa admits with a small laugh. “I dream about traveling. About Paris, about the old narrow streets of Lisbon, about… warm tea on a balcony in Tbilisi. Does that sound cliché?”

 “It sounds… real.”

 Marisa turns toward the window. The trees outside are swaying in the breeze, and it almost feels like they're listening in on them or something.

 “And you? Do you have a dream?” she asks softly.

 Nick pauses, thoughtful.

“To have someone I can actually trust. Even if things don’t always work out.”

 His words just... hang there. Like when a song cuts off mid-note. But Marisa doesn’t say anything. She just nods.

 “Alright then,” Nick says, flipping open his notebook. “Formulas won’t wait. Ready?”

 “Yeah,” she smiles. “As long as you don’t start yelling at me.”

 “Yelling? Nope. I’m the library edition of patience.” He hesitates, then slides a stack of papers across the table. “I figured… this might be a good way to see where we should start.”

 Marisa frowns at the sheets.

“Wait… is this a test?”

 “A tiny one,” he adds quickly. “No grades, no red pens. Just helps me figure out what’s tricky for you.”

 “And what if I bomb it?” she mutters, eyes dropping to the desk.

 “Then it means you were brave enough to take the first step,” he says with a soft smile that somehow makes her chest unclench.

Spring is knocking louder at the window now: the wind teases the branches, the shouts of younger kids echo faintly from outside. But here in the library, there’s only silence and focus.

Marisa picks up her pen, sighs once more—and begins. At first, her fingers shake a little, but problem by problem, her focus sharpens. Confusion gives way to surprise, then a flicker of satisfaction.

 Forty minutes later, she sets down her pen.

 “Done. And… it wasn’t that bad.”

 Nick gathers the pages, scanning them quickly, pencil moving here and there.

 “Marisa, you nailed it. Everything from basic algebra is nearly perfect. Geometry looks solid too. And the advanced topics… well, we haven’t even tackled all of those yet, but you’re definitely on track.”

 “So… I’m not totally hopeless?”

 Nick smiled. “Not even close. You’ve got this.”

 Marisa let out a relieved breath, feeling some of the weight lift off her shoulders. For a moment, the stress of senior year felt a little less suffocating.

 “You’re the opposite of hopeless,” he says, meeting her eyes with a grin. “And you know what? We’ll handle this. None of it’s some impossible code. It’s all stuff you can understand. And I’m gonna help you through it.”

 For a second, Marisa just stares at him. She isn’t used to someone believing in her so easily, so freely. Her lips twitch—like they want to argue—but instead, she smiles.

 “Well then, Math… you haven’t broken me yet. Let’s see what you’ve got next.”

 “Exactly,” Nick nods. “And you’re not fighting it alone.”

 “I’m so sorry, kids, but it’s time to close up,” comes the voice of the librarian, a sweet older woman with a cloud of white hair. “You two worked so hard today—it was a joy to watch.”

“Thanks,” they reply in unison, quickly gathering their things.

When they finally left the library, it was already getting dark outside. The sun was already hidden behind the rooftops, its last warm rays painting faint pink streaks across the windows. The air carried the damp sweetness of jasmine blooming near the school’s entrance.

On the way to the bus stop, neither of them said much. The street was emptying out, lampposts flickering awake. Each of them was wrapped in their own thoughts, and there was this weird awkward tension between them.

Marisa glanced at Nick, hesitated, then broke the quiet.

“So… you love... music, right? I saw the sheet music in your bag.”

 Nick flinched, like she had brushed against something raw. For a second, he thought—she meant that kind of love. His heart dropped straight to his shoes.

“Uh… yeah,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “I’ve got a keyboard at home. I write music sometimes. Not like… real stuff. Just messing around with melodies.”

 “That’s awesome,” Marisa smiled. “Have you ever written a song about someone?”

 “Nope,” he chuckled. “But maybe I should start. Want me to write one about you?”

 “About me? No way. I’m not worth writing songs about,” she shrugged.

 He froze for half a second. There was something in her voice—something small and sharp, like a hidden fracture. He wanted to say: What do you mean? Every person deserves a song. But he kept quiet. Just tucked the thought away. And silently promised himself: I’ll write it anyway.

 “So… do you wanna be a musician someday?” she asked.

 “Maybe,” Nick smiled. “That’d be pretty great.”

Marisa laughed. It sounded light, but inside, something curled tight. A musician… I once wanted to be something too. An artist. Remember their voices? Shouting: “Art won’t pay your bills. Forget it!”

Her shoulders twitched almost invisibly. Nick noticed.

 “You okay?”

 She shook her head quickly, then steered the conversation elsewhere.

“What about your parents? What do they think about your dream?”

 “They’re… awesome,” he said, and the smile returned. “When they bought me my first music notebook, I literally jumped around my room. And later they found brochures for music schools, asked me where I wanted to go.”

 “That kind of support…” Marisa said softly.

She smiled, but her eyes looked... off. Like she was somewhere else. Inside, everything felt upside down. She imagined what it would be like to have someone actually have your back. To not be alone.

But she didn’t say that. She just walked beside him, listening to him talk about his own stuff. And in that moment, it felt a little easier to breathe.

They were standing at the bus stop, where the streetlights had fully taken over for the sun. Buses rolled by rarely, throwing long shadows into the dark.

 “So… what do you want to be?” Nick asked out of nowhere.

 Mari paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“My parents want me to be a lawyer.”

 Nick stopped and looked at her. His voice was almost stern.

“That’s not the answer. I’m not asking what your parents want. I’m asking what you want.”

 Mari lowered her gaze, like the ground just gave way beneath her.

“I… I don’t know. Probably… stability? A job to pay for rent, bills. Not be a burden to anyone.”

Nick didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, at those eyes that looked way too tired for someone her age. She was only seventeen. And she was already thinking about bills.

“You’re…,” he started, then stopped. Couldn’t find the words.

 Mari nodded, like she understood. Then he decided to change the subject.

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

Mari looked up and, for the first time in minutes, smiled.

“Mmm… One Direction.”

Nick's eyes went wide and he almost fell off the bench.

“Seriously?! I thought I was the only one in school still listening to them!”

 “Well… I’ve liked them since I was a kid,” she admitted, a little embarrassed.

 “Favorite song?” he shot back.

 “Little Things.”

 “You’re joking! That’s mine too!” Nick grabbed his phone, tapped the screen lightly, and the familiar melody played quietly from the speaker.

They sat down on the bench. Her shoulder barely touched his. And they sang. Not loud, just whispers, so nobody could hear – but to them it felt like they were at Madison Square Garden or something.

Nick thought this was the best evening he’d had all year.

Mari felt something she hadn’t in a long time: light. Free. Easy.

 And the bus… well, it could be late for all she cared.