Mira huddles under her blanket, burying her head and body in the fabric as she tries to talk herself down. The weight of her own impulsiveness feels overwhelming. Was it too much, too fast to declare their relationship and immediately invite him for a meal? She feels as though she has lost her mind, worried that he might find her overeager or far too open.

  She tells herself the idea had been purely practical, a simple way to save time and keep him from the burden of driving, even if that excuse feels thinner by the second. Now, however, the reality of her nonexistent cooking skills has set in. She has already managed to borrow hot pot supplies from Naomi and gathered extra materials from the campus mart, yet she remains paralyzed by the details. She wonders if he has hidden dislikes or if the meal will turn out to be a disaster. She rolls back and forth, fighting with her thoughts while her phone sits nearby, tempting her to send a message and cancel the whole thing.

  Mira sits straight up when a new message arrives from Adrian.

  Adrian: Do you need help?

  She drops the phone instantly, letting it fall onto the bed before covering it with the blanket as if the message represents Adrian's physical presence in the room. There is no way she will ask for his assistance after being the one to extend the invitation.

  She eventually manages to type a response, only to delete it and start again, plopping her head against the wall to shake the buzzing thoughts out of her mind.

  Mira: No needs. Is hotpot okay for you? I have some leftover...

  She evaluates the words and quickly deletes "leftover" because it sounds far too careless and impolite. She tries one more time, finally settling on a simple confirmation.

  Mira: No needs. Is hotpot okay for you?

  Mira: See you at 6pm.

  A new bubble appears almost instantly.

  Adrian: Hotpot is fine. I'll bring dessert.

  Mira watches the screen, seeing the typing indicator appear and disappear several times. A full minute passes while he seemingly debates his next words, making it clear he is thinking just as thoroughly as she is. Finally, a second message arrives.

  Adrian: Are cake and fruit okay? Which fruit do you like?

  Mira bites her lip, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Her absolute favorites are grapes and strawberries, but they already had their fill of those at the orchard today. She wants to give him a real answer, but she also hates the idea of him going out of his way or driving across town just to pick something up for her.

  She recalls seeing some kiwis at the campus mart earlier. She likes them well enough, and she knows they aren't too sweet, which would likely suit his taste. Most importantly, he can find them immediately at the mart without having to leave the campus.

  Mira: Any cake is great!

  Mira: Maybe some kiwi? I saw some at the campus mart earlier.

  She hits send and immediately flops back onto her pillow, a light energy buzzing through her. She can almost picture him standing in the aisle of the small campus store, inspecting the kiwis with the same seriousness he usually reserves for his research. The thought makes her earlier panic fading into a warm, genuine excitement.

  Making hotpot doesn't require any exceptional skill. Mira washes the cabbage and spinach, then handles the tremella mushroom with care. She laughs to herself, recalling Adrian’s face when he told her he’d be a tremella if he were a plant. It’s hard to believe she actually bought it, yet here she is, adding it to the pot with his consent.

  Her face is still on fire from blurting everything out and then just booking it like a total idiot an hour ago. Every little moment feels like too much—how he was so cold when they first met, yet he still knelt down to fix her sprained ankle, and how he brought her yuzu ginger the second she started to sniffle. All that teasing and banter carries so much weight. His gift and the letter he wrote for her birthday make her eyes tear up, and she can't help but laugh at her own drama while wiping them.

  How silly she has been for playing dumb all around, avoiding and running away from him, wondering if things would happen differently had she admitted she loved him from the beginning. Now everything of her life is still a mess, and she doesn't want him to endure everything alone just for her sake. Why the hell does she always overthink when he is near? This dark mind of hers must be the reason she can't keep her cool, especially with his intense gaze, his height, those wide shoulders, warm hands and the ridiculous, methodically calm voice of his.

  Urggg, just thinking about it already makes her heart beat faster. She yanks the vegetables from the water, focusing on the task to try and keep it together before he arrives.

  Slicing the carrots proves a bit challenging; she can’t quite manage the beautiful flower shapes Naomi makes, though at least the results aren't terrible. The onion, however, is the worst. Her eyes welling up the moment she peels back a layer. He won't think she’s actually crying a river just over making him dinner, will he?

  Mira takes a small sip of the broth to check the seasoning; the flavor seems okay, and she feels a wave of gratitude for Naomi’s help. Naomi is just so cute that if Mira were a guy, she would fall for her, too. Her cooking is the best, always coming with extra pastries, sweets, and that innocent smile. It’s no wonder Elias—who cold-heartedly refused to be Mira’s study partner—can suddenly find hours to help Naomi with her business law.

  After a long battle with the kitchen, Mira finally completes her mission. The electric hotpot sits ready in the center of the small tea table, which she has carefully positioned right by the big window.

  The room usually feels spacious to her, with its bed, the cozy window nook, and a desk that fits her size perfectly. It's hard to imagine how the space will handle both her and a man nearly 1.9m tall. How she can actually manage to stay calm and hide her nerves while sitting so close to him... The layout suddenly feels much tighter than it did an hour ago.

  Mira looks back at the tiny kitchen area, which features only a flat electric cooktop suited for two pots and a sink that has become a battlefield of dishes and bowls. She, meanwhile, smells like a chicken. Mira exhales a long breath, already regretting her ridiculous choice; she should have just taken the easy route—making herself look cute and fabulous for a night out. How on earth did she come up with the idea of preparing a meal herself? She needs a shower—no, a deep soak from head to toe, even if it means using up her entire new bottle of body wash and all her fragrant spa herbs.

  Mira stands before her wardrobe, torn over what to wear. A dressy outfit feels like overkill for a night in, but there’s no way she’s letting him see her in pajamas or a baggy hoodie—she’d look like a total mess. The clothes he bought her this morning are still sitting in his car, and she’s still not sure how she’s going to handle that.

  She digs through a gift bag the girls gave her for her birthday and pulls out Luca’s present with a wry look. What is this even supposed to be? Trust Luca to pick out something so ridiculous. It’s some "pinky-sexy" piece of lingerie, and there is no way on earth she’d wear this for anyone. She shoves the whole mess back into the closet. Finally, she settles on deep navy wide-leg trousers for comfort and a light blue, fine-knit sweater, then ducks into the bathroom.

  ?

  Adrian stands in the hallway, nearly brushing the top of the doorframe, holding two large paper bags. His black hair is still damp, darker than usual and slightly messy, softening the sharp angles of his face into something undeniably attractive. He carefully chose the light grey cashmere sweater, hoping the neutral tone would help him blend into the background and keep her calm. The mid-November chill makes the new organic blend of citrus, bergamot, patchouli, and ylang-ylang he chose to mask his natural cedar and lab scent even clearer. He made sure of it, carefully showering again after driving to the city center for a new wardrobe and the mountain of pastries and fruit.

  He knows she didn't want to bother him, only mentioning the kiwis because she thought he would like them and they were right there in the mart. A sting of regret touches him for yesterday, when he criticized her for eating too much sugar. He should have noticed her body is transforming back and forth, burning through massive amounts of energy; she needs at least three sweet snacks a day just to keep up.

  The door creaks open slowly, and she is there, peering out cautiously. He watches her pull her sweater sleeves down over her fingers—a nervous habit he has come to recognize. Her soft blue thin knit sweater gives her an incredibly gentle air. Does she know that the color is a social signal for being emotionally open and accessible, or did she just happen to pick it by chance? The mere thought of it makes his heart flutter. Her cheeks turning pink with confusion as she stares at his hands and the pile of food she never requested. Her peachy, soft lips quiver adorably, making her look so small and sweet that he can't look away.

  "Hi," they both say at the same time.

  She clears her throat, pausing for a second to collect herself, before stepping aside to let him in.

  Adrian steps past her, holding the paper bags a little awkwardly, his eyes landing on the small table by the window and then back to her.

  "Where... should I put these?" he asks, his voice slightly low.

  They both pause, amber eyes meeting hers for a beat as they figure out the logistics. "Oh! Here, let me," Mira says, taking the bag from him. Her fingers brush against his for a split second. She quickly turns away and heads to the small fridge, carefully lining the boxes up, naming each one to herself.

  "Adrian... You don't need to buy this many..." Mira’s voice wavering when she finally speaks.

  Adrian stands behind her, watching her struggle to fit the last of the gold kiwis into the crisper drawer. He didn't think about the amount being too much while he was at the shops; he only thought about getting the best of everything. He clears his throat, his usual calm replaced by a slight, uneasy hesitation.

  "Between the bioelectric output and the transformations, you’re burning through fuel. I don't want you running on empty."

  Mira slowly stands up after closing the fridge, looking at him as she takes a deep breath. She keeps her voice low, trying not to start their newly adjusted relationship with an argument.

  "Adrian," she says, forcing a gentle smile that looks strained on her face. "I really love the cakes and all the fruit. But I would be more comfortable if we didn't mention anything about the bioelectric stuff, or the therapy and my symptoms."

  "You should eat more," he says. "I don't want you skipping meals or burning yourself out in the kitchen. Next time, let me handle it."

  He pauses, his eyes searching hers for a second. "Am I allowed to say those things?"

  Adrian has been waiting for her to draw that line, wondering how he should speak to her now—whether she is more comfortable with his neutral, clinical tone, or if it is too rushed to show her how much he cares.

  "The second version is way better," she says, her voice still a bit shaky. "But it's still a lot for me to take in right now. Next time we should just go together and decide."

  The word together sparks a sudden, hopeful rhythm in his chest, grounding his uncertainty.

  "Are you free tomorrow?" Adrian asks. "We can go after class time."

  To ease the pressure, he quickly adds, "I mean, we need to get ready for the club workshop tomorrow anyway. We can pick up whatever else you need while we’re out."

  She takes a deep breath and faces him directly now. "After five is okay. And..." She hesitates before forcing the words out. "The move-in, the safety check for my laptop and phone too—can we do all of that tomorrow?"

  His eyes widen for a second. He didn't expect her to be so direct about moving in tomorrow; it seems she's just as determined as he is to solve this right away.

  Adrian nods, taking in her sudden decisiveness. "Sure," he says.

  The words have barely left his mouth when a long, low growl erupts from her stomach. It’s so loud it practically echoes in the small space, completely shattering her cool moment. He watches her stand there, looking like she wishes the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. It’s hard for her to play the mature adult when her body is throwing a tantrum like that, yet she has this way of easing the tension naturally without even trying. She is just too adorable.

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  Normally, he might have teased her, as he genuinely enjoys seeing her reactions, but he stays calm and holds his tongue not to embarrass her. He glances toward the tea table and then back at her, hoping the mention of the food will give her a way to hide her burning face. "It smells really good," he says gently. "Can we eat first and discuss things later?"

  "Please, sit here," she says, her voice coming out softly as she gestures toward the window. "It’s a bit narrow, but... still works, I think."

  Adrian simply moves into the space, his large frame lowering as he settles onto the soft surface she prepared. He has to fold his long legs carefully to avoid bumping the table, his knee almost brushes against hers within the narrow space, the proximity is impossible for both to ignore. The heat coming off her is dizzying, making the small corner feel warmer than the steam from the pot.

  He watches as she uses her chopsticks to lift a nest of noodles, placing them into his bowl before handing it back to him. She slides the beef and spinach into the pot, clearly using the food as a shield between them.

  "When and where do you usually have dinner?" she asks, keeping her eyes on the simmering broth.

  "Depends," he says, his eyes following her hands as she works the chopsticks before moving up to her face. "I’m rarely in one place long enough to actually prepare a meal. It's usually pre-made, high-protein stuff, or a simple meal with fresh salad from a canteen service. And, uhm, eating out if I'm on a business trip."

  "You're way more disciplined about this stuff than I am," Mira says, looking at him. "You actually stay healthy, while I usually just mooch off Naomi or Elara, grab whatever's at the canteen, or just skip real food to live on snacks. Will I get in the way of your schedule? I mean, uhm..."

  Adrian watches her set her bowl down. Her hand still grips her chopsticks as if she's forgotten they're there, and he can sense a slight prick of unease in her posture.

  "Is it okay if we have breakfast and dinner together?" Adrian asks, hoping the suggestion sounds practical rather than overbearing. "It won't disrupt any of our schedules. Even lunch, if you want. You don't have to cook, though."

  It sounds presumptuous for their first day, but he feels that starting with something as normal as sharing a meal is the best way to bridge the gap between them. He wants to make it easy for her to say yes, offering a routine that ensures she finally eats properly without feeling like she has to do the work.

  Mira lets out a startled cough, her face warming up. "I’m not much of a cook," she admits, her voice small and slightly breathless. "I can handle a simple breakfast, though."

  Mira ducks her head, busying herself with the pot to hide the heat in her face.

  “The forecast says there’s a ninety percent chance of rain for the workshop. Won’t that... mess up the mushroom exploration?” Mira suddenly changes the topic to the workshop plan Ren emailed just half an hour ago, clearly looking for a way to move toward something more comfortable than their living arrangements.

  Ever since her shrinking incident, he has asked Ren and Noah to take care of the planning. Getting back into the workshop might be just what she needs to start socializing and find her confidence again.

  “It’s mostly drizzle this time of year. It’ll be fine as long as you’re prepared—raincoats, waterproof boots. That’s all it takes.” He looks at her, his expression relaxed. “Besides, it’s a good lesson. You can’t always wait for perfect weather to get what you want.”

  “But the children... if they get soaked, they might get sick.”

  Adrian meets her concern with a small, reassuring smile. “Actually, a little exposure is a good way to train the immune system. A bit of mud and dampness forces the body to adapt and strengthen its own defenses.”

  “You always make things sound so simple.”

  “Because they are,” he says.

  Mira finally lets out a little laugh. “I’m still shocked Ren can cook. Sweet soup, of all things? That feels so random. Did you know?”

  “I knew,” he says, his tone calm and offhand.

  “Of course you did.” Her voice is soft, the words barely breaking through the warmth between them. She looks settled into the conversation. He feels a sense of relief, observing how easily she shares these details with him now. The way she opens up makes the distance between them feel a little less vast. Then, almost out of nowhere, she asks:

  “Is it... stressful for you? The lab, the research... all of it?”

  Adrian’s chopsticks pause mid-air. Ever since Mira’s incident, he has spent most of his energy observing her needs and managing her recovery. Most people assume he handles everything perfectly simply because he is a genius. No one recognizes that the business, lab and research are demanding and they are draining him too. He feels a genuine sense of appreciation that she would think to ask.

  “It has its weight.” He answers dryly, doesn't want to make his responsibilities sound like a burden.

  “Doesn’t it ever get to you?” she presses on. “When you’re tired, or when you can’t really tell anyone what’s going on?”

  “I manage,” he says.

  “Manage how?”

  “Is this an interview now?”

  “Yeah. A very serious one. How to Handle Stress, by Adrian Vale.” Mira says.

  To Adrian’s surprise, she turns her worry completely on him, looking entirely at ease compared to a minute ago.

  “Step one: eat when you’re hungry and the food is still hot,” he answers, reaching for the cabbage.

  Mira laughs, finally back in her element. “I’m not kidding.”

  “Neither am I.” He looks back at his bowl and takes another bite before continuing. “To handle stress, you stay grounded. One step at a time. Focus on exactly what you’re doing. Right now, you’re hungry, so you eat. That’s the task. Anything else just gets in the way and doesn't solve a thing. So, you put it aside.”

  “But the problem is still there, isn’t it?” Mira counters. “If you just put it aside, how does it get fixed?”

  “Of course it’s still there,” Adrian says. “And it’s never just one problem. They come in layers, stacked on top of each other. That’s just how it works. Same principle: one task at a time. Stay focused. You solve what you can, finish it, and then move to the next.”

  He taps his fingers lightly on the table. “Otherwise, you’ll just multitask yourself into a loop—scattered, overwhelmed—and nothing actually gets done.”

  It sounds simple.

  Maybe it really is that simple.

  Maybe the best way is to stop overthinking and just let it be.

  Just eat.

  And just like that, the meal eventually finishes in peace, the awkwardness between them is gone.

  Temporarily.

  Adrian takes over the cleaning after the meal. He handles the washing himself, not wanting her hands to get wet or cold in this weather. With only the pot, two bowls and several dishes, the task is finished quickly. As Mira hands him a towel, he catches the look on her face, realizing she probably hadn't expected him to be so at home with these small domestic chores.

  Standing close to her in the cramped kitchen, her scent is everywhere. She should have better stayed on her bed, watching him from a distance instead. It is a struggle to keep his posture disciplined despite how much he wants to close the small gap between them.

  Mira hesitates for a second, then gestures for him to sit on her bed.

  They sit down next to each other. The mattress dips under his weight, giving a small squeak that makes her pause for a heartbeat. He notices her hands resting in her lap, holding a folded piece of paper, her thumb pressing along its edge as if she is fighting with herself over whether to pass it to him. She rubs her thumb along the crease again, then finally leans over and places the paper on his lap, leaving it there for him to take before pulling her hand back, fingers drawing in with nervous restraint.

  “There are a few things I think we should talk about,” she says. “I do better when expectations are clear. Just… um, tell me what you think. I don’t want to be selfish or make you feel like you have to go along with it.”

  Their eyes meet for a second before Mira looks down at her lap again, giving him space. Adrian has never felt this strange flutter before. Is this a love letter she doesn’t quite have the courage to say out loud?

  He slowly opens the paper, skims the first lines, then sneaks a glance at her before going back to it and reading more carefully.

  “I think we should start with something casual and simple. Maybe starting the day with a morning message—whoever wakes up first sends it first. It might help us feel more used to being together… and a goodnight message too.”

  Adrian can almost hear her voice as he reads the line again and again. Just as he’s about to say something, Mira speaks first.

  “Please read the whole thing first,” she says. “We can adjust it later.”

  Warmth spreads across his cheeks as he continues. Each point is numbered, laid out in her careful, orderly way.

  “2. Please tell me if you feel uncomfortable. Don’t just agree with everything I say. I’ll do the same.

  3. We don’t have to text all the time, but I really want to know how you’re doing and how your day is. Just reply when you have time.

  4. Let me help whenever I can. I’m clumsy, but I feel more nervous when you do everything on your own.

  5. Cooking together when we don’t eat out, if we’re not busy.”

  Further down, she’s added her general schedule, her free time, her usual hangouts with the Chaos Crew.

  “My group usually hangs out on Fridays. You don’t have to come if that’s not your thing, but I want to spend time with my friends too.”

  Then one more line, added beneath it: “7. We can go on a date once a week, depending on your schedule.”

  And finally: “Let’s not make the relationship public until we’re both sure, and until I feel like I can handle it like a normal person.”

  Adrian’s thumb rests at the bottom of the page for a moment. Then he looks up, searching for her eyes—just to make sure she’s ready for whatever he’s about to say next.

  She takes a breath. Her expression changes into a new sense of resolve that wasn't there before.

  “I’m okay now,” she says. “Just tell me what you think.”

  Their fingers rest just an inch apart on the bedsheet. As she turns, her head settles right by his shoulder, her silver hair spilling away to one side. The movement uncovers the tender curve of her neck, where the frantic flutter of her pulse thrums beneath skin so thin and pale it looks translucent. Her heart is clearly racing despite how calm she tries to appear in front of him.

  Adrian digs his fingers into the mattress, anchoring himself as he keeps his eyes fixed on the wall. “Do you want this to be something we negotiate together or would you rather I adjust myself around what you’ve written?”

  “Together,” she says without hesitation. “I don’t want this to be something you fit yourself into. Tell me what works for you and what don’t. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

  “A morning call and a bedtime call would work better for me.”

  The moment the sentence ends, Adrian already feels the sudden weight of his own boldness. Though he understands that moving slowly may be better for her, his heart just wants the opposite.

  “What’s with the call?” Mira asks at last.

  “I just want to hear your voice,” he says, the thought of being the first thing she hears when she wakes up, of becoming the very start and end of her day, warms him.

  “Adrian, could you... could you not say things like this with that natural tone?”

  “So can’t we have a morning and bedtime call?”

  “We’ll be studying together at night anyway. Isn’t that… enough?”

  “But does a debate before bedtime count as being a couple?” he asks with a trace of humor, “Or are you making use of me?”

  “Whaaaat?” Mira groans, her face heating again, though there’s a sharper light in her eyes now. “Okay, Adrian, we can’t just date all day like this. After today I need extra cramming to keep up with the upcoming exam. I know studying isn’t really your thing, but you’re still busy with your work too.” She exhales, then looks back at him. “If we study together, or just share the same space, that already means more time together. But if the calls make you feel better…” Her voice softens. “We can try that.”

  A mischievous smile grows on Adrian’s face. He understands exactly what she wants to say but chooses to make her spell it out anyway. A playful debate is the only language she feels safe enough to use when her emotions become too loud.

  Adrian gives her a gentle smile. “So, are we having a high-level academic date?”

  “Yeah. Social Manipulation in Politics and Game Theory date.”

  “Like how retaliatory tariffs affect romance?”

  “Absolutely relevant,” Mira plays along. “I’ll prove that ridiculous retaliatory tariffs ruin quality of life and burn out relationships.”

  “Then may I sit next to you in class?”

  Mira leans her forehead against her fingers, staring down at the floor as heat creeps into her cheeks. She doesn’t look up when she speaks.

  “Wait, Adrian…If you sit next to me and everyone’s watching, I won’t be able to focus on the lecture. And… everyone would know we’re…uhm…dat—dating.”

  “But it’s the truth,” Adrian answers without the slightest trace of shame. His request to sit in the Global Tech Ethics class was a blatant contradiction of his own logic; he had no professional need for the course, yet he registered without a second thought the moment he saw it on her schedule two months ago. He refuses to admit that he rearranged his life just to be near her for ninety minutes.

  Mira glances up at him, then finally admits defeat. “Fine. But don’t do anything weird in class. Okay?”

  “What weird thing do you expect me to do?”

  He holds her gaze with an open, teasing warmth, letting his presence crowd her until she's completely breathless. A surge of dopamine—a ridiculous, bubbling boyish joy—rises in his chest as he watches her. She is incredibly cute when she is flustered, her lips pressed together in a fierce pout, her eyes squeeze shut for a second as she refuses to lose this argument to him. The sight of her beautiful chaos makes restraint feel impossible.

  “The class with you is the only one I take here,” he continues at last. “I have three labs under private company. Other people run them, but I go in once or twice a week to check in.” He slows a little, watching her as he speaks. “There are meetings too. Some planned, some not. My schedule isn’t fixed, but I’ll always tell you when I won’t be around.”

  He hesitates, knowing that giving her too much room to retreat will only allow her to overthink. He finally decides to be direct, using his natural ease to anchor her while she grapples with his bluntness. “About your close friends… you get to decide what feels comfortable. If I’m free, I’ll come,” he says, voice lower now. “As your boyfriend. Not by accident. And not as just any friend.”

  He finally turns his eyes toward her, seeing her eyes—wide, still, and filled with anticipation—draws him in. The discipline he is maintaining simply melts away. His hand leaves the mattress, rising toward her face as if pulled by a force he can no longer resist. But he stops short. His palm stays just an inch away from her cheek. The touch is left unfinished, but the heat coming off her skin is so sharp it feels like he has.

  His voice softens. “I grew up thinking in logic. I know I can sound methodical—it’s a habit. But I want you to know that I care. If something makes you uncomfortable, tell me. And if talking feels like too much, you can text me instead. Just… don’t disappear on me.”

  His hand is still there, hovering, fighting the physical effort of keeping that tiny gap between his palm and her skin. For so long, he has used his dry, methodical talk as a mask to shield himself from the feelings he has for her. He wants her to feel comfortable enough to show him every side of herself—the best, the worst, and even her most guarded moments—without ever seeing him as a threat. But just as he thinks he might give in, the fear of her shrinking away makes him hesitate.

  “I’m holding myself back because I don’t want to overwhelm you. But don’t mistake that for distance. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be close.”

  He finally lowers his arm to his side to ease the tension, turning his eyes toward the wall again to hide the desire he can’t quite mask.

  (To be continued).