The Book Of Us

12. Awkward Comfort

I sit next to Heidi in our only shared class—a mix of political theory and literature, something that's supposed to bridge the gap between our majors. The professor is going on about the intersection of narrative and ideology, how political movements are shaped by the stories we tell ourselves and how literature reflects those movements. He's talking about Orwell and how 1984 critiques authoritarianism, but my focus drifts in and out. Heidi, on the other hand, is scribbling notes furiously.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Engfa walk in. My pen stalls mid-word, my eyes snapping to her without even thinking. She's late, as usual. The professor stops mid-sentence, looking up from his desk. He sighs, slowly removing his glasses and placing them on the table in front of him, following Engfa with his eyes as she strolls in.

For a moment, it looks like he's about to say something. His arms cross over his chest, like he's gearing up for a lecture on punctuality, but then he seems to think better of it. Instead, he just shakes his head and returns to his notes, picking up right where he left off, like Engfa's entrance didn't happen.

I try to focus on him again, but my eyes can't help but track Engfa as she makes her way to a seat in the back. She doesn't look at anyone, just drops her bag and slouches into the chair. I keep watching her, feeling that weird, tight knot in my chest again, the one I get whenever she's around.

"Char," Heidi whispers, nudging me with her elbow.

I blink, startled, and turn toward her. "What?" I ask, a little sharper than I mean to.

She raises an eyebrow, giving me a look like she's caught me staring. "I was just saying," she continues, her voice low, "I don't get why she never gets called out for being late. Every time I'm late, I get kicked out of class. She just strolls in like she's untouchable."

I shrug, picking up my pen and pretending to take notes. "I don't know," I mutter, trying to sound uninterested, even though my mind is still on Engfa.

Heidi isn't satisfied with my answer and taps her pen against her desk, watching me. "How's it going between you two, anyway? You guys still not speaking?"

"Yeah," I say, scribbling nonsense into my notebook. "We're ignoring each other. It's fine."

Heidi leans in a little closer, clearly enjoying the topic more than she should. "That's good. Less drama for everyone, right?"

I don't say anything, keeping my head down, scribbling in my notebook like I'm too busy to engage. The truth is, I don't know what's "good" about it. The silence between Engfa and me feels heavy sometimes,

"Maybe," she whispers, "you're just missing her."

I blink, caught off guard, my pen stopping mid-sentence again. I turn my head slightly, giving her a confused look. "What?"

She shrugs, her smirk growing. "Just saying. Might explain why you're always so... distracted when she's around."

I roll my eyes, turning back to my notes, ignoring the heat rising in my cheeks. "You're ridiculous," I mutter, but Heidi just laughs quietly, her eyes flicking back to the front of the class.

I try to focus on the lecture again, but the knot in my chest tightens, and for the rest of the class, I can't stop thinking about Engfa. Or about what Heidi just said.

The day flies by, mostly a blur of classes, the usual routines, and, of course, the continued silent standoff with Engfa. It's been quiet—too quiet, really. No snarky remarks, no awkward encounters, just... peace. But as I sit in my room later that evening, the emptiness of it starts to feel weird. Something gnaws at me, like a splinter I can't quite reach. I keep shaking off the feeling, telling myself this is how it should be. It's calm. It's better this way.