Academic Weapons in Love

Before my roommate, Chloe, left for her out-of-town internship, she solemnly pressed her barely-used, prepaid study lounge membership card into my hands. She gripped my shoulders, her face twisted in utter heartbreak. "Maya, this pass expires soon. Do not let it go to waste. To an academic weapon, every single second is lined with gold." I accepted it reverently. But day after day of drowning in my books, something shameful happened: I caught feelings. When Chloe finally finished her internship and hauled all her bags back into our dorm, I was the first to confess with starry eyes: "I found my soulmate at the study lounge. It’s the guy who always sits next to me." Chloe’s hand froze mid-peel over an orange. A long silence stretched between us before she spoke slowly. "You promised you’d help me use up the card." I nodded, practically bubbling with joy. "I did! And I scored a boyfriend in the process. Double the win." Chloe’s expression turned extraordinarily complex. She shoved an orange slice into her mouth and mumbled around it, "Except... that guy is my cousin. I asked him to go supervise you. I was worried you wouldn't survive studying on your own." The smile on my face froze, inch by agonizing inch. Chloe’s cousin had to be out of his mind. What kind of sane person agrees to such a ridiculous request? Who shows up at a quiet study lounge on the dot every day, playing the role of a silent, devastatingly attractive "babysitter"? "A babysitter?" My chaotic best friend, Harper, gasped so hard she nearly spit out her iced coffee. "Are you kidding me?!" "I swear, you overachievers are completely unhinged." My brain was buzzing so loudly I barely registered the rest of her sentence. Harper patted my back in utter disappointment. "So it wasn’t some mutual, star-crossed campus romance after all?" What kind of romance did you think it was? The whole mess started because my dear roommate, Chloe, had expressed profound anxiety about my self-discipline before leaving. As she packed her bags, she had sighed dramatically, the distrust in her eyes thick enough to cut with a knife. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him lead you astray." Leaving me with that completely cryptic warning, Chloe had rolled her suitcase out the door toward her bright future. Leaving me and her "babysitter" trapped in that quiet little study space, staring each other down. The first time I met Logan was on a totally ordinary Monday. I tucked my phone away and asked casually, "Is this seat taken?" He lifted his head from behind a massive, dense textbook. He had clean, striking features, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose. The gaze behind the lenses was crystal-clear, yet cool and distant. When he smiled, the corner of his lips curved up just a fraction. "No." "Hey. I’m Logan." His voice sounded like iced soda—crisp, with an imperceptible touch of rasp. He looked to be in his early twenties. His features were sharp and defined, having completely shed the awkwardness of teenage years, hinting at an imposing, steady maturity. What freaked me out even more was that just like me, an iced Americano sat on his desk, and he was twirling a white fountain pen identical to mine. To be precise, it was an exact match. Except mine had a few faint scratches on the barrel, while his looked brand-new, aloof and pristine—just like the man himself. Logan liked peace and quiet. He never initiated a conversation with me. Only occasionally, when I started dozing off, he would lightly tap the end of his pen against my desk. At first, I dutifully honored Chloe’s "dying wish," keeping my head down and ignoring everything outside my textbooks. And naturally, whenever he gave me that look—the one that screamed you are completely hopeless whenever my mind drifted—I glared right back. After a few rounds of this, he stopped bothering to police me and just quietly focused on his own work. If nothing unexpected had happened, we would have remained two parallel lines, coexisting in peaceful silence until Chloe got back. The turning point came on a stormy, thunderous afternoon when I was trapped at the study lounge without an umbrella. The figure in front of me shook out a long-handled black umbrella, droplets splashing onto the floor and spreading into a dark puddle. "Heading home?" He slid a warm cup of coffee across to me, his face devoid of any expression. "It’s pouring outside. Drink something warm." Outside the window, pelting rain and rolling thunder were waging war. In the end, I gripped that warm cup, taking small sips, feeling a corner of my defenses crumble. I rubbed my warm nose and awkwardly changed the subject. "How did you know I liked this brand?" He lowered his gaze slightly and let out a faint hum. "Lucky guess." He paused, then added, "Guessed it from your takeout receipts." My entire world collapsed.Three months ago, Chloe had turned down my offer to drive her to the station, leaving for her internship city all on her own. Looking at Logan now, I could faintly detect the subtle family resemblance between him and Chloe. A wave of hollow dread washed over me. Me, Maya. A girl who had sworn off all romance to focus purely on passing my exams... was I really about to fold? Did I even have a future? Hearing this, Harper was rolling around on her bed, laughing hysterically. "Chloe is literally the hardest nut to crack in the entire department! How the hell does she have a cousin that hot?!" At that, I reached over and steadied Harper’s wobbling head. "Doesn't your journalism clique obsess over those cool, detached academic gods like Logan?" "Why hasn't anyone made a move on him?" Harper held her hands up against the sunlight, admiring her fresh manicure with total disdain. "You know what they say about guys like that." I blinked, lost. "What?" Harper sneered, "Old news. Pass." I nearly choked on my water. Harper sat up, her face turning a bit more serious. "Our university has barely been around for a century, but your 'dream boy' Logan looks at least three or four years older than us. He's probably one of those ancient fast-track PhD candidates. Even brushing past him counts as harassing an academic fossil." Harper leaned in close, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm not desperate like you." I instantly raised my hand in protest. "I don't like Logan!" Harper arched an eyebrow, wearing a face that said keep lying to yourself. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say." "Then explain to me how you caught feelings for the 'cousin' your roommate sent to babysit you?" If I really had to pinpoint when it happened... Maybe it was every drowsy afternoon when he’d tap me awake with his pen, only to slide a mint across the desk without a word. Maybe it was every rushed lunch when a piping hot sandwich mysteriously appeared on my desk. Or maybe it was every late night when I was having a mental breakdown over my core modules, and the notes and files he sent over always solved every single roadblock with pinpoint accuracy. My study guides were piled high like a mountain. Every time I called my mom for an allowance bump, she asked if I’d picked up some secret, shady shopping addiction. A faint melancholic sigh escaped me. "It’s not like I’m in love with him," I stubbornly argued. "I just figured if we actually dated, I could use him for perks with a clear conscience—like saving seats, grabbing my takeout, and highlighting the test material." Harper gave an enlightened nod. "So the current situation is: your roommate thinks you're slaving away for grad school apps, but instead, you took her pass and bagged her cousin." I flopped back onto the bed, utterly dead to the world. "Chloe’s coming back soon anyway. It’s not like she’s losing anything." "You never know. Around here, the only point of you grad school hopefuls is to prove you're single." I have no idea who started that rumor on campus. They claimed aspiring grad students only ever did three things: Tie their hair into a high ponytail. Chew on a pen cap. And find a boyfriend... "That is pure slander!" I spat out the air in my mouth, my high ponytail swinging behind my head. "Why would I need a boyfriend right now? Do I think getting accepted is too easy?" Harper: "..." Eventually, Harper left. I popped a lollipop into my mouth, lying flat and staring at the ceiling. A shadow suddenly fell over me. Quickly swatting away the hand reaching for my candy, I closed my eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Logan, cut it out." "Who do you think you're talking to?" His tone was calm, giving nothing away. I scrambled upright in an instant. "Senior." I dusted off my clothes, though there wasn't a speck on them. "Nice weather today. I should head to the study lounge." "Make yourself at home, Senior!" "Maya." He called after me just as I was about to slip away. His voice betrayed neither anger nor warmth. "Are you avoiding me?"A long silence settled between us. I kept my head down, saying nothing, my peripheral vision catching a speck of dried mud on Logan’s sneakers. "I just feel... guilty. Like I broke Chloe’s trust." I had always been the odd one out in my friend group. I hated socializing; my only real obsession was studying. My mom had gritted her teeth and made a decision completely contrary to my lazy nature. She had shipped me off to join the brutal ranks of competitive exam preppers. Before I left. She had clapped my shoulder, giving me earnest instructions: "Sweetheart!" "It doesn't matter if you don't get into the top master's program! Just bag a guy from this elite university and you'll bring honor to the family name!" "And be careful out there. Don't let anyone play with your feelings." Much to my mom's disappointment... Once I entered grind mode, I studied furiously, and my module scores shot up like crazy. I left all my slacking peers in the dust. In just three months, I climbed from a mediocre mock-exam rank straight to the top tier. That one afternoon, I had been frowning over a brutal practice problem. My phone screen lit up with messages from him. A string of voice notes, breaking down the problem's logic with infinite patience and clarity. Finally, a line of text popped onto the screen: I'll bring you a packet of specialized review notes tomorrow. Total silence in the room. That text had been Harper’s idea—she had pushed me to send the original question. She claimed that if you want to know if a guy likes you, you just have to test the waters. I thought she was full of it. If her radar were that sharp, the messy breakups and makeups between her and her ex could have spanned an eighty-episode drama. Logan's prompt reply felt blinding. I couldn't hide the fact that I was using him as a study buddy anymore. Before me, plenty of girls had pretended they were studying just to camp out near him in the lounge. Not only did they derail his focus, but they also bragged loudly: The campus genius? Just a little snack to spice up my study sessions. Thanks to those girls, the road had already been blown to pieces before I even got here. Logan looked down at our chat log and let out a soft, sudden chuckle. The laugh felt oddly out of place in the quiet courtyard below the dorms. "Maya." "Do you want to get into the graduate program here?" I jerked my head up in shock. Our university had a widely known secret. A few years ago, the department’s most prestigious professor had publicly stated: Logan was the most gifted student he had ever seen. His direct fast-track into the PhD program was set in stone. For all these years, let alone a girlfriend, Logan hadn't let a single girl get close to him. This was the very first time he had ever volunteered to tutor anyone. The area below the dorm sank into a dead silence. A student passing by murmured, "You clearly know..." Logan lowered his eyes, pocketing his phone. "Prep exams are a personal journey." "If being around me makes you this jittery, then perhaps I'm in the way." Finally, he looked back at me. "Your foundation is solid. With my guidance, your chances of getting in are much higher." "Of course, if I ever become a distraction, it simply means my methods were flawed and my discipline lacked. It has nothing to do with anyone else." Back then, Logan was the one who had volunteered to tutor me. For so many days and nights, he had taught me meticulously, holding nothing back. I knew he was only doing it because Chloe asked him to. Yet, I had developed dirty, selfish feelings for him. I kept my head down, not daring to look at him. Logan’s voice turned very quiet. "Tell me... did you, even for a second, see that person in me?" I shook my head. I saw Logan as a beacon on my academic grind, a brilliant mind up in the clouds. If I had known from the start that he was Chloe's babysitter, I wouldn't have dared cross the line. I looked up again. Logan wore a simple white t-shirt, looking fresh and poised. Just like the day we met. A strange sense of relief washed over me. Right. Logan was just Chloe’s cousin. My tone firmed up, half answering him, half reminding myself. "A senior is just a senior." With the knot untangled, I cheerfully darted off to study. I didn't notice the silhouette behind me, standing frozen in place for a very long time.The whole academic circle laughed at our school. They said admissions was precise: they exclusively recruited hopeless romantics. After running the prep cohorts for years, barely anyone ever passed the entrance exams. Our academic advisor had somehow dug up a brutal mock exam pack, determined to scrub away the department's shame. Harper had dubbed it: The Tiger Mom of Exam Takers. If your score didn't cut it, the advisor's merciless phone call would come tearing through your line. Some didn't believe the hype and tried their luck. They got chewed out so hard they lost all their fight. Down below, the top students the advisor had pinned his hopes on were completely pale, only their teeth showing. They exchanged nervous glances. Nobody dared look at the advisor's thunderous face on the podium. "You all bombed it?" Crickets. The spectators on the sidelines were whispering gleefully: "These kids are playing the long game. If they pass, they get a degree; if they fail, they leave with a partner." "Our pass rate might be low, but our coupling rate is insane." "Way higher than the art department next door." The advisor's face darkened with every passing second. His eyes swept the room and finally landed on me, quietly picking at my nails. "Maya, why don't you give it a shot?" I looked up, completely blank. "Huh?" "Me?" Even though I thought this whole exercise was ridiculous, the eerie, forced warmth on the advisor's face pressured me into shuffling up to the podium. He clapped my shoulder. "I know you've always been a good, diligent student. You wouldn't want outsiders laughing at our department, would you?" The whispers below surged, and a bizarre sense of responsibility flared up inside me. I puffed out my chest. "Don't worry, Professor. I got this in the bag." The moment I picked up the chalk, ready to write the solution on the board, Logan grabbed my wrist. "Maya can't do it!" Excuse me, what do you mean I can't? The advisor was beside himself with rage. He glared at Logan, gnashing his teeth. "Fine! If she can't, you do it." "Don't tell me you can't either!" Logan’s gaze was utterly cool. "Boring." The tension between them instantly turned cutthroat. I leaned toward the advisor, trying to defuse the bomb. "Professor, didn't you graduate from here too?" "Why don't you try it yourself?" He kept his scowl firmly in place. "Mind your own business." Me: "..." Alright! Guess that was on me for speaking up. With an intimidating professor glaring ahead, Logan gripping my wrist like a vice behind me, and a crowd of onlookers clutching their phones, practically salivating for a fistfight to break out... I patted Logan’s hand to reassure him. "It’s fine, Senior." "I totally got this." Logan: "..." His brow twitched, looking like he wanted to say something. I pulled my hand free and picked up the chalk again. The very second I finished scrawling the final answer on the board, the bell rang, instantly rescuing me from the awkward spotlight. During my "recovery period"—or rather, my cooling-off period—the news of the advisor calling me out spread through the entire department. A few gossips even dug up the fact that on my very first day at the study lounge, I had sat right next to Logan. I buried my face in my hands, speechless. "Aren't people supposed to mind their own business?!" Harper sat on the edge of the bed, cracking sunflower seeds. "Other people's lives are boring. Yours is a reality show." "Do you know who dragged you out of the lecture hall after you got called on?" I stayed silent. "The notoriously silent, unapproachable academic god, Logan, took you by the hand and walked you right out of the room in front of everyone." "The advisor chased after you two, screaming his head off, and Logan didn't let go once." "You should've seen how purple the advisor's face was!" I pulled the blanket entirely over my head, refusing to face reality. Harper couldn't help but sigh wistfully. "I gotta admit, watching an aloof genius fall for someone is insanely hot." I cut her off immediately. "Logan and I are just normal classmates!" Harper choked for a second. "Normal? I wouldn't know." "In journalism, calling an older guy 'Senior' is strictly for flirting." "Cupping his tear-stained face, watching involuntary tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and hearing him breathless call you 'reckless'..." "Perfection!" Me: "..." I didn't understand, and I was deeply disturbed. Before I could say another word, Harper impatiently pulled out her phone. "Whatever, I'll just ask the campus forum." The campus app was originally meant for simple announcements, but an upperclassman had modified a board for anonymous relationship advice. [Post: What counts as a normal senior-junior dynamic between an older guy and a younger girl?]The post blew up instantly. Replies flooded in within seconds. [No idea. The guy I had a crush on started as the Student Body President and ended up as my roommate's boyfriend.] [?] [Drop the tea.] [No clue. But whatever it is, getting forced to run half a mile and owing an apology letter definitely isn't it.] [Bro, what did you do?] [Couldn't sleep at 2 AM, used his account on the campus crush page to ship our advisor with someone. The advisor called and tore him a new one.] [...Your senior is an angel for not blocking you.] [So what is a normal dynamic supposed to look like?] [Probably like mine: picking up his packages every day, getting scolded, and just studying like a good little kid.] Harper was appalled and couldn't resist typing back: [Are you a masochist?!] The other user got defensive instantly: [You don't know crap! It’s called respecting your elders!] Harper stared at her screen for a few seconds before looking up at me. "Suddenly, you and your senior seem pretty normal." I frowned. "Is it normal that he doesn't get mad when I call him by his first name?" Harper nodded. "Let me ask." A ping came from the screen. [Probably normal?] [If I didn't still owe an apology essay, I'd test it for you right now.] [I'll do it!] [My senior is in the library right now. Hold my beer.] [Bystander here: the library staff just kicked someone out.] A long while passed. The user who went to test it finally replied: [Nothing happened. The old man just claimed my voice was offending his eyes and threw me out.] [Really? Your voice sounds a little muffled?] [I'm inside the dumpster.] [Compared to that, yours is a remarkably wholesome, healthy dynamic.] Me: "..." Harper doubled over laughing. "Honestly, we didn't even need to ask. Sending his own cousin to watch you study before an internship is suspicious as hell." I had been under Logan’s wing for nearly half a year. At first, people doubted me because of my totally unremarkable background. The advisor especially. He would pop up around me like a ghost, his eyes locked on me like a hawk. Logan was different; he was endlessly patient with me. Having no way to repay him, I whipped up a feast—well, actually, I just bought him an iced coffee. And then... Logan ended up in the campus clinic with acute gastroenteritis. He lay on the hospital bed, his face pale as a sheet. The advisor looked at me kneeling beside the bed, drowning in guilt, and smacked his own forehead. A sudden realization dawned on the professor. "I misjudged you." "You weren't after his grades. You were after his life!" "Don't worry, your senior only took you on as a mentee and doesn't plan on taking anyone else. If you study hard, once he graduates, the whole research lab is his. You don't need to rush him into an early grave." I squeezed my eyes shut. Logan is just a senior. All of this was just Chloe’s test for me. We exam-grinders had to have unbreakable willpower. In the dead of night, thunder jolted me awake. Outside, the rain was pouring down in violent sheets, rattling against the glass. The moment I closed my eyes, I remembered the warm coffee Logan had handed me that day. He hated trouble more than anything. I stared blankly at the ceiling of my dorm bed. Logan was Chloe’s cousin. A direct-admit PhD candidate. He probably wasn't scared of thunder, right? Unable to sleep, I decided to head to the 24-hour study lounge. The second I opened the dorm's front entrance, a figure holding an umbrella was standing downstairs in the downpour. "Senior." Remembering he was Chloe’s cousin, I yanked back the hand that had instinctively reached out to run toward him. "Senior, my loyalty to my roommate is pure. You really don't need to test me anymore."