Chapter 75: Hypothetically Speaking

NORA’S POV

Was that a fucking dream?

I sat frozen on the edge of my mattress for a solid minute, waiting for my hammering heart rate to catch up with what my logical brain already knew.

It had to be a dream. Knox definitely hadn’t walked across campus to break into my dorm room in the dead of night.

I twisted around to check the wooden desk chair, half-expecting some kind of physical proof, only to find my folded clothes and notebook sitting exactly where I had left them last night... completely untouched.

Nothing had happened.

I slid out of bed as quietly as I could, careful not to wake Priya, and grabbed my towel and shower caddy off the hook by the door.

The bathroom mirror was not kind to me.

My chestnut hair was a wild disaster, my cheeks were still furiously flushed, and there was a restless, dilated look in my hazel eyes that I didn’t want to examine too closely.

I turned the shower faucet on hotter than necessary and stood under the scalding spray until my skin went bright pink, scrubbing frantically at my arms and collarbones like I could physically wash away the memory of large, calloused hands that had never actually touched me.

It didn’t work. Not entirely. But the steam helped ground me enough that by the time I shut off the water, my racing pulse had finally returned to something resembling normal.

I wrapped a thick towel around my body and padded back into the bedroom.

Priya was sitting up in bed, blinking blearily through the morning light with one side of her black hair sticking straight up in the air.

"Did you shower already?" Priya asked, squinting at the glowing digital clock on her nightstand. "It’s barely seven-fifteen. You always hit snooze at least twice before your eight AM lecture."

"Couldn’t sleep," I said, which wasn’t technically a lie.

Priya rubbed her eyes, squinting harder at me with sharp, pre-law scrutiny. "Something’s wrong with you, Nora. Your face is doing a thing."

"What thing? My face isn’t doing anything."

"Bennett."

I sat down on the edge of my mattress, towel-drying the damp ends of my curls, desperately trying to construct a casual tone. "Can I ask you something real quick?"

That got her instantly, fully awake.

Priya abandoned the pillow she had been leaning against and sat up straighter, alert in the specific, predatory way she only got when something interesting was happening.

"Always," she said, leaning forward. "Ask."

"Hypothetically," I said, staring very hard at a tiny scuff mark on the linoleum floor, "if someone had a dream about, say, a person they are absolutely not supposed to have feelings for... what would that mean?"

Priya’s entire face lit up like a Christmas tree.

’Here it comes,’ I thought with a silent groan.

Priya had taken an Introduction to Psychology elective the previous semester and had never once... not even once, let anyone in our building forget it.

"Oh, this is delicious," Priya said, pulling her pillow back into her lap and hugging it to her chest like she was settling in for a keynote lecture. "Dreams are basically your subconscious throwing a massive party that your conscious mind didn’t RSVP to. Everything you’re suppressing and denying during the day just shows up uninvited at night and does whatever it wants. It’s classic Freud. Wish fulfillment. Whatever you want but won’t let yourself want when you’re awake, your brain just goes ahead and hands it to you in your sleep."

Priya tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing with razor-sharp delight. "So. What was the dream?"

"It was purely hypothetical."

"Hypothetically," Priya repeated, drawing out each syllable with obvious glee, "it means that someone is very much falling hard for that person and is just too stubborn and terrified to admit it out loud."

"That is a massive, unscientific leap," I argued, my voice tightening.

"It’s not a leap; it’s Freud! I literally just explained the theory," Priya fired back, practically vibrating with excitement. "Who was the dream about, Nora? Was it Knox?"

"I never said..."

"Nora."

"It was a completely random stress dream," I blurted out, feeling a blistering wave of heat rush straight up to my ears and betray every single syllable coming out of my mouth. "Probably about midterms. Midterms are starting next week, and stress dreams are statistically common during exam season."

"Uh-huh," Priya said, flopping back onto her pillows with the exact smug expression of an attorney filing away undeniable courtroom evidence for later cross-examination. "Midterms. Sure. Because people wake up at seven in the morning looking breathless and pink over supply-and-demand curves."

"I’m getting dressed," I muttered, scrambling toward my closet to hide my burning face.

I threw on a pair of dark fitted jeans, a light-blue cable-knit sweater, and pulled my damp hair into a neat ponytail. I had a quiz class at eight o’clock, and I couldn’t afford to let a phantom hockey captain ruin my 4.0 GPA.

By seven-forty, Priya and I were rushing out of Briar North Residence Hall, stepping into the golden autumn morning.

The central campus quad was bustling with energy. Massive purple-and-gold banners were strung between the ancient oak trees, and student council volunteers were setting up tents and wooden stages across the lawn.

"What is all this?" I asked, adjusting my backpack strap as we walked briskly toward the social sciences lecture hall.

"You didn’t see the campus blast this morning?" Priya pulled out her phone, showing me the official university announcement. "It’s the annual Briar Fall Charity Festival & Quad Fair tomorrow afternoon. The entire school participates... academic honor societies, clubs, varsity teams, food trucks, the whole deal. All proceeds go to the Briar Children’s Hospital foundation."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" I checked my own phone, unlocking the screen to find an urgent email from the Economics Honor Society president:

Nora — You’re assigned to lead the Economics Society Advising & Baked Goods Booth on Friday from 1:00 PM to 5:00 PM. See attached quad map for your station.

I tapped the attached map file, zooming in on the booth layout.

My breath caught in my throat.

Right beside Booth #14 (Economics Honor Society) was Booth #15: Briar Varsity Hockey — Slapshot Challenge & Dunk Tank.

"Oh, come on," I gasped under my breath.

"What?" Priya peered over my shoulder, catching sight of the map layout.

A slow, wicked grin spread across Priya’s face.

"Well, look at that," Priya purred, nudging my arm with her elbow. "Tomorrow afternoon, you get to stand three feet away from your ’stress dream’ for four straight hours in broad daylight."

Before I could even formulate a retort, my phone buzzed in my palm with an incoming text notification.

KNOX: Morning, Bookworm. You survived the viral fame? Coach gave us thirty minutes before morning skate. Bring your sharp tongue to the quad tomorrow... I hear our booths are neighbors.

My fingers froze over the glass screen, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as the vivid, phantom memory of his hands and lips from last night rushed back to scorch my thoughts.

I stared at Knox’s text, completely terrified of what would happen when I had to face him in the daylight.