𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | ✓

32

For the past hour, I've been struggling to focus on the goddamned movie, but it's just not happening.

I have not been able to go five minutes without Wright's face resurfacing in my head, like a goddamn pop-up ad.

And it doesn't make any difference that Brian's meaty hand is placed over mine. Because the warmth his hand offers doesn't warm my insides and it doesn't electrify my senses. Nor does it make my mind go blank for a solid moment... the way Wright's does.

I shift on my seat.

The entire night, Wright and I sat behind his laptop on the dining table as he searched and taught me how to search for a topic for my yet-to-be-written paper. As discreetly as I could, I tried directing him to Reimann hypothesis, but it was way more challenging than I had initially expected. Or perhaps it was the effect of having his legs brush mine occasionally or the overpowering scent of his cologne, and the warmth of his body radiating a mere inch away from me. Either way, it was hard.

But I stayed true to my words. After he dropped me off and I changed and headed to the bookstore, before settling behind the desk I texted Brian to hang out today. I guess he was slightly too excited because even if he had other plans, he canceled them all, and here we are, sitting in the theatre, watching a movie I did not understand one second of it.

I blankly gaze at the screen as the hero of the movie stands in front of the heroine and again, Professor Spencer Wright's dreamy dark blue eyes swim in my brain. I inhale sharply and subtly shake my head as if that would make his stupid face with his stupid heart-warming smile fade away.

The credits start rolling on the screen and the lights turn on. Brian turns to me and I offer him a smile.

With my hand still in his, we stand up and leave together.

"I'm so glad you were free today," he says as we head out of the theatre.

I grin. "I'm glad you were free too and agreed to come."

He talks about the movie as we go to a nearby restaurant, while I try my best to focus on him, instead of comparing his voice with Spencer Wright's, sending shivers down my spine each time he said my name last night.

We sit in the booth on the furthest corner, near a window.

"Any plans for after graduating?" he asks as a waiter hands us two menus.

I shrug. "Continuing, I guess. What about you?"

"Obviously continuing, but will you be changing universities?"

I gaze out of the window. "I hope I can." When I turn to him, his face has slightly fallen. I offer him a small smile and he weakly returns it.

"I'll be staying here. Got a job, a house with my friends..." He fiddles with the edge of the menu.

I plant my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my palm.

His honey-colored eyes jump at me. "And then after a few years when I find you again, you'll be doctor Gracie Stewart... probably a professor."

I giggle and lift a shoulder. "Maybe."

The waiter places our drinks and leaves. I twirl the straw in the glass before taking a sip from the ice-cold drink, cringing at the mixture of sweetness and gas. Through my lashes, I peer at him. "Won't you be a professor too?"

He sips his drink. "I love maths... but teaching?" he shakes his head and chuckles. "Not so much. I'll probably do a one-year course in programming or something and then jump into the wild."