Next Morning — University Grounds
Morning arrived sharp and too early.
Rhea stepped out of the Nior car dressed impeccably, sunglasses on, posture flawless — and very deliberately wearing her jewellery.
Earrings catching the light.
Rings steady on her fingers.
Bracelet snug at her wrist.
Across the grounds, Ling was already there.
Black jacket. Hair tied back. Bag slung over one shoulder. Calm rebuilt into something unbreakable.
Her eyes caught the glint of metal on Rhea's ear before she could stop herself.
For half a second, memory stirred.
She crushed it instantly.
The dean stepped forward, clapping his hands once.
"Attention, everyone," he announced. "The university retreat will last four days."
Groans and murmurs mixed together.
"And," the dean added with a smile far too pleased with itself, "we'll be traveling together."
A pause.
"By bus."
Silence.
Then—
"Bus?"
"You're joking."
"We don't do buses."
"This is a university trip, not summer camp."
The dean raised a hand. "Yes, by bus."
Students stared at him like he'd insulted their bloodlines.
"I know many of you are… accustomed to other arrangements," he continued. "But this is a group experience. No private cars. No separate transport."
Someone scoffed. "We're elites."
The dean smiled wider. "Exactly. It will be fun."
Ling didn't react.
She simply adjusted her bag and moved toward the bus without hesitation.
The crowd hesitated — then followed. Because when Ling moved, things happened.
Rhea watched her go, then walked past the murmuring students just as calmly, heels clicking against the pavement.
She didn't look at Ling.
She didn't need to.
Inside the bus, seats filled fast — chaos layered over entitlement. Complaints flew. Someone argued about legroom. Someone else about air conditioning.
Ling took a seat near the back, alone, window side.
Rhea stepped in moments later.
The aisle narrowed.
Eyes followed her instinctively.
She stopped beside an empty seat.
Next to Ling.
Neither spoke.
Rhea sat.
The bus doors closed with a final hiss.
Engine starting. No turning back.
As the bus pulled away from the university gates, something settled — heavy, inevitable.
Four days.
No mansions.
No private exits.
No distance.
Ling crossed one leg over the other, gaze fixed out the window like the scenery personally offended her.
Then she spoke.
"Your jewellery is excessive," she said flatly, not looking at Rhea. "It clinks. Distracting."
Rhea didn't miss a beat. She turned slightly, inspecting her bracelet as if seeing it for the first time.
"Funny," she replied coolly. "I wear it to filter out unnecessary opinions."
A few students nearby stifled laughter.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"And those earrings," Ling continued, voice sharp, controlled. "Overdone. Trying too hard."
Rhea smiled — slow, egoistic, deliberate. "Some people notice effort because they've never inspired it."
Ling's fingers flexed once against her knee.
She shifted tactics.
"Your eyes," Ling said casually, finally glancing at her. "Too expressive. Makes you predictable."
Rhea leaned closer, invading Ling's space by just enough to be intentional.
"And yours," she said softly, "are dead until you're losing control."
The air between them tightened.
Ling scoffed. "Brows like that don't belong in an academic space."
Rhea arched one perfectly. "Yet here you are, staring."
A beat.
Ling looked away instantly.
"This trip is going to be long," Ling muttered. "Try not to be annoying."
Rhea crossed her arms, settling back in her seat like a queen tolerating poor company.
"You started this conversation," she said calmly. "If you can't handle me existing, that's your weakness. Not my problem."
Ling laughed once — humorless. "Don't flatter yourself."
Rhea tilted her head. "I don't need to."
Silence followed — thick, vibrating, watched by everyone pretending not to listen.
Ling stared out the window again, pulse loud, irritation crawling under her skin.
Every insult tasted wrong in her mouth.
Every flaw she pointed out was something her eyes had catalogued with precision last night — not to criticize, but to remember.
Rhea adjusted her bracelet deliberately, metal catching the light.
Ling noticed.
Of course she did.
And hated herself for it.
The argument burned itself out the way fire always did between them — violently, then suddenly gone.
Road noise replaced words.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Rhea's posture shifted without ceremony. The sharp line of her spine softened, chin dipping, lashes lowering as sleep claimed her against her will. She fought it for a moment — pride first — then lost.
Her head tilted.
Ling noticed instantly.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe differently.
Didn't look.
Not my problem, she told herself.
The bus hit a shallow bump.
Rhea's head tipped farther, hovering in that fragile space between falling and finding support.
Ling cursed silently.
She leaned an inch closer.
Just enough.
Rhea's head settled against Ling's shoulder like it had always known the place.
Ling froze.
Her body reacted before permission arrived — shoulder adjusting, posture shifting so Rhea wouldn't strain her neck. Protective. Automatic. Unacceptable.
Rhea exhaled softly in sleep.
Her hair loosened, strands lifting with the motion of the bus, brushing Ling's jaw. One lock slid across her cheek, another against her lips.
Ling stiffened.
The scent hit her next.
Warm. Clean. Something subtle beneath — not perfume, not indulgent. Her.
"Damn it," Ling muttered under her breath.
She didn't move away.
Didn't brush the hair aside.
Didn't pull back like she should have.
Instead, she angled her head slightly, letting Rhea rest more comfortably, letting the weight exist.
Rhea shifted once, closer.
Her hair tickled Ling's face again, soft and persistent, like it was testing boundaries Ling pretended she didn't have.
Ling clenched her jaw.
She's asleep.
She doesn't know.
This means nothing.
But her heart was loud.
Too loud.
Around them, the bus hummed, students laughing softly, music playing somewhere far back. No one noticed the stillness carved out between two seats.
Ling stared straight ahead, eyes hard, refusing to look down.
Because if she did—
If she saw Rhea like this again, unguarded, trusting without choice—
Denial wouldn't survive the ride.
So Ling stayed rigid, shoulder offered, breath measured, letting memory and scent and proximity do their damage in silence.
Four days.
And the first battle was already lost without a word spoken.