In the drowsy sunlight streaming through the window, dust motes shimmered faintly. The light-drenched particles floated as if slowly trickling down, and as if detached from the various noises echoing from afar, only the rhythmic sound of a pen rolling across paper filled the surroundings.

When did it start? Watching you, who naturally comes to my desk—which isn't even yours—and lies face down, has become part of my daily routine. At first, I asked if you were in the wrong seat, and then I tried telling you to go back to your own place, but the response was always just a contextless smile.

After that, I thought about warning you a few times, but I soon gave up. It was a waste of my energy to bicker every time, so I decided to treat you like a piece of still life placed in that spot.

Whenever I hit a snag while solving complex formulas and reflexively turned my head to the side, you would be waiting, your eyes crinkling as you smiled at me. Without a sound, just gently pulling up the corners of your mouth, that smile held no readable intention, which made the feeling even stranger.

....

Whatever you're up to, every time your eyes—made transparent by the sunlight—capture me and curve into a smile, I feel the formulas I've precisely constructed in my head evaporate and scatter all at once.

What on earth are you thinking? No, my own state, unable to stop asking 'Why?' while looking at you, was even more of a mystery.

"Midterms are coming up soon. Aren't you going to study?"

Having the line of my composure invaded should rightfully be unpleasant, but strangely, rather than displeasure, a flutter that came with a foreign curiosity tickled my fingertips first. I eventually set the pen I was holding down on the desk with a click. And toward you, who was still watching me, I asked in a voice I tried to keep as indifferent as usual.

"I don't think watching me is more important than your grades."