Four guys connected by family.
Four girls connected by friendship.
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"Dont give me that look." I say, trying to break the eye contact.
"Like what?" He steps closer.
"Like if I ask you to burn this world, you...
~Ilzām tere the, lekin wajah main tha, Kya faida safai ka, jab faisla main tha~ 🫀🥀🕯️
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Song: Ijazat🎶
If economic theories were people, I'd file a restraining order against all of them.
I slouched in my chair, staring at the paragraph on my laptop screen like it had personally insulted me. "Analyze the principle of opportunity cost in consumer choice." Yeah? How about the opportunity cost of me giving up my sanity for this class?
The library was too quiet for the level of internal chaos I was experiencing. My earbuds played lo-fi beats in the background-something about "focus" and "productivity"-but they were no match for the spiral of procrastination in my brain.
I glanced at the clock on my laptop. I'd been here for two hours and had written exactly... 126 words.
Eighty of them were just me describing how much I hated capitalism. Very academically, of course.
Across from me sat Zian, his posture unnervingly perfect, one leg crossed neatly over the other as he scribbled in a lined notebook with a black gel pen like he was writing laws, not notes.
His workspace was the definition of discipline. Mine looked like I'd just survived a natural disaster.
"I'm starting to believe this whole 'project' is a social experiment," I muttered. "Like, how long can you trap a person in misery before they start chewing their own laptop?"
Zian didn't look up. "I'd say about three hours. You still have time."
"Comforting."
"Don't mistake it for sympathy."
I squinted at him. "Do you ever smile, or is that strictly reserved for the apocalypse?"
Zian's lips curved the slightest fraction. "Only when you suffer in new and creative ways."
"Wow. That was almost affection. I feel touched."
"Don't."
I rolled my eyes and leaned back, stretching until my chair creaked in protest. "This project is actually going to kill me. Just bury me with my laptop so I can suffer in the afterlife too."
"You're dramatic," he said calmly, still not pausing his writing. "Even for you."
