It was happening.

​

The room’s silence was deafening, save for the steady hum of a ceiling fan needlessly left on. Arms-length apart, they avoided each other’s eyes, poring soundlessly over their dog-eared copies of The Merchant of Venice and blank sheets of ruled paper.

​

It had to have been at least thirty minutes by now. Haruna stole a glance at Ryu. He checked his watch for the second time.

​

“It’s only been thirteen minutes,” he muttered, as though he’d read her mind. He dragged his palms down his face, then dropped his elbows onto the table.

​

Haruna sighed. “Okay, well—I was rethinking the PowerPoint idea. We should do something more creative. Maybe a short drama based on the final acts? You could be Shylock, say a line from the court scene, and then I come in from off-stage and narrate.”

 

She gave him an expectant look.

​

Ryu folded his arms. “Not going to work. A two-person group can’t do it like that. And I’m not doing any stupid acting.”

​

Haruna crossed her arms, mirroring him. “What do you mean it can’t work? Then what great ideas have you come up with, Einstein?”

​

Ryu shot her a glare. “We can just write a report. Then do the PowerPoint like you said before.”

​

She rolled her eyes. “Forget that. Mr. Lee told us to be creative. We do something basic—no matter how good it is—and it’s a B grade, tops.”

​

Ryu gave an exasperated growl, his voice a loud whisper. “You’re ridiculous. A 'B' is bad? Whatever. I’m not doing it.”

​

“You know, it’s too bad if a pass is all you’re aiming for in life,” Haruna snapped, leaning forward. “But some of us actually have a future to think about. Honestly, I don’t even know why I agreed to this. Working on my own would’ve been a much better decision, after all.”

 

The words. Too sharp.

Too honest.

 

Too late to take back.

 

Ryu’s expression hardened. He uncrossed his arms. Haruna slapped her hands over her mouth.

​

“Here’s an idea,” he said coolly. “You do the acting. Seems like you’re already pretty damn good at it.” He shoved back his chair. “I need a smoke.”

​

Haruna averted her gaze as he grabbed his hoodie off the chair back and walked out. 

​

She stared at the empty seat across from her. Okay—so she had said more than she meant to. Admitted more than she intended. But everything she said? It wasn’t wrong. He was being difficult—shutting down every idea she offered, acting like none of it mattered. It wasn’t wrong to care about her future. About this. So why did she feel terrible? And why did her chest feel so tight?

​

Haruna looked down at the table. If they didn’t figure this out soon, they were both doomed. She exhaled slowly, pressing her lips together. She’d let her emotions take over in the worst way. Telling him he had no future? To his face? Of course he was angry. He had every right to be.

​

There was no getting around it.

​

If this was going to work—if anything was going to work—

​

She had to find him.

​

And she had to apologize.