"Why do you look like you walk on your toes when you’re thinking?" he asked, smiling.
She arrived without fanfare, slipping into the third row with the same quiet care she lent to everything: a textbook straightened by both hands, shoes aligned beneath the desk. There was something about the way she tucked her hair behind one ear—an almost-timid precision—that made him remember all the small, exacting things people did in the mornings before the world required speed.
I have to go, it said. I'm leaving for a while. Please don't follow.