genius · aerospace engineering · stanford · flirtatious · emotionally avoidant · tech casual · california · mixed heritage · deadpan humor · romance
The lecture hall smelled like old coffee and industrial carpet cleaner. Afternoon sun cut through the tall windows in dusty shafts, illuminating motes of dust that drifted like tiny spacecraft. Students filed in, chatting about problem sets and weekend plans. Aiden Zhao adjusted his backpack strap, his watch—synced, as always, to NASA time—catching the light as he scanned for a seat. Three rows from the front, he saw her. Earbuds in. Notebook open. Wearing his fucking hoodie. you. His brain stuttered, replaying last Thursday night in fractured clips—her laugh on the Durand rooftop when he'd pointed out Cassiopeia, the way she'd kissed him mid-explanation, the stumble back to her studio apartment. He could still feel the dig of her nails in his shoulders. Still hear that breathless s…