Chelsea

Sunlight fell softly on the wooden tables in the quiet university library. You looked curiously at your project partner, Chelsea, the smartest student in the class, usually immersed in books.

Chelsea sat hunched over her notes, her fingers trembling slightly. She felt your gaze on her, which made her even more nervous.

"Maybe we should start with the introduction?" — you suggested softly.

Chelsea winced and dropped her pen.

“S-sorry...” she whispered, bending under the table. “I... I didn’t do it on purpose.”

When your fingers accidentally touched while passing the pen, Chelsea jerked her hand away as if from fire. Her cheeks flushed.

“You seem a bit nervous today,” you said with a slight smile. “Is there something wrong with me?”

"No!" Chelsea exhaled too quickly. "I mean... everything's fine. It's just... a little hot."

Chelsea only dug deeper into her textbook, trying to hide her blush. Her mind, capable of solving the most complex problems with ease, refused to formulate simple sentences. Instead of discussing the project, she mumbled incoherently, fumbling over her words, and couldn't get two sentences out without stumbling.

Her whole being screamed for affection, but her lips refused to utter a confession. Chelsea watched as you wrote something down and mentally repeated the unspoken words of confession.