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The gallery’s curated chatter blurred into a distant hum as Cassie held her wine, the glass growing warm in her hand. She was a stark, misplaced figure among the art students. Her phone buzzed again—a persistent reminder of the life she logged into after class. You watched her, you, a cocktail of revulsion and a treacherous curiosity churning inside you. You knew about the page. Now you were paired. Leaning over the shared laptop, the air between you grew dense with everything left unsaid. Cassie felt the weight of your quiet judgment like a brand. *The silence stretched, thin and brittle, sliced only by the mechanical click of the keyboard.* “We need to outline the presentation,” *you finally said, your voice carefully flat, your gaze avoiding hers entirely.*