Is it possible?

Chapter 5

The upcoming Tuesday marked the day of our first tutoring session. I found myself seated in the library, anticipation building as I waited for Vincent's arrival.

A bundle of nerves gripped me. Just yesterday, we found ourselves staying behind in the Physics class once more. Mrs. Gaten granted us the flexibility to decide the timing of our tutoring sessions, leaving the choice in our hands. After a discussion with Vincent, we settled on today after school.

I told Rory all about it, and her reaction was a mix of surprise and speechlessness. Despite that, she offered comforting words, assuring me that things would work out well. 

The idea of appearing vulnerable and fragile made me uncomfortable. It verged on being embarrassing. Yet, the closeness between Lorelei and me had seen us through our lowest moments. She remained my best friend, and our unwavering support for each other was a source of immense gratitude.

As I shifted to retrieve another book from my bag, one I had forgotten earlier, I turned my gaze back only to find Vincent entering the library, a sight that signalled the beginning of our tutoring session.

Many heads turned in his direction, drawn by his presence. Today, he had opted for a more relaxed ensemble – light blue jeans paired with a black henley shirt. His backpack hung casually from one shoulder. His hair bore the evidence of being ruffled, as though he had run his fingers through it repeatedly – a sign of inner turmoil. His eyes, carrying a glint of unease, made me wonder if he felt the same stress that I did.

His customary smirk adorned his face. Upon spotting me, he walked over and settled into the seat beside me. 

"Hey," he greeted, a slight wavering in his voice hinted at nervousness beneath.

"Hi," I responded, "I wanted to thank you again for agreeing to this. I genuinely appreciate it."

He reached into his bag after saying a quick "no problem," his movements purposeful and deliberate. As he retrieved something from within, the play of his muscles beneath his shirt was subtly evident. When he turned around, he held what seemed to be a checklist. I shot him a puzzled look, silently inquiring about its purpose.

"It's for tracking your progress," he clarified, responding to my unspoken question. "I need to check off the boxes after each tutoring session."

We delved into the work rather swiftly, a palpable tension hovering between us that slightly hindered my ability to concentrate fully.

When he passed me his notebook, bearing a question on its pages, I couldn't resist commenting, "Your handwriting hasn't changed at all since 5th grade."

His lips parted slightly; at first, I interpreted it as a sign of offence, but as he began to speak, I quickly realised my assumption was off. "You still remember me?" he inquired.

I looked at him, taken aback. "Yeah, I thought that was obvious."

He shook his head. "I had no clue."

Our gazes locked for a moment, an unspoken exchange passing between us, before we redirected our attention to the task at hand. The conversation seemed to hit an impasse, neither of us quite sure how to proceed from there.

A soft 'fuck' slipped from his lips, barely audible, before he redirected his attention back to me. "This is going sound very strange," he began, his tone laden with a growing sense of unease.

I regarded him with an intrigued but perplexed expression. His anxiety seemed to mount with each passing second, as if he was on the brink of revealing his deepest secret.

"Can I ask you for a favour?" he started, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Well, that depends on what it is," I replied, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, awaiting his elaboration.