CHAPTER 39: DISTRACTION IN DESIGNER HEELS

I had a plan.

It was perfect, neat. Highlighted in three colors, topics split into neat hour blocks, and snack breaks scheduled so I wouldn’t fry my brain.

And then my girlfriend walked in.

"Val," I groaned, not even looking up from my notes, "I’m studying."

"I know," she said breezily, shutting the door behind her like she owned the place. "That’s why I came."

"That... makes zero sense."

"It makes perfect sense." She crossed the room, heels clicking on my floor like she was doing a runway walk. "You’ve been ignoring me all week. I came to fix that."

"I have exams," I reminded her. "As in, tomorrow."

Her smirk was pure mischief. "And I’m here to make sure you survive."

"I was surviving just fine." I kept my eyes on my notes. "Until now."

Instead of leaving, she leaned over my shoulder, hair brushing my cheek, and peered at my handwriting. "Wow. You really do write like a machine. Is that supposed to be English?"

I shoved the paper away from her. "Val—"

"What?" She smiled, all fake innocence. "I’m being supportive."

"You’re being distracting."

She tapped my shoulder. "You like it."

"Val," I groaned again. "I’m trying to—"

"Study?" Her voice was all mock innocence as she strolled into my apartment like she paid rent here. "You’ve been doing that for hours. You’re going to get wrinkles."

"Wrinkles are better than failing." I kept writing, trying to focus on thermodynamics. Entropy... disorder... Celestia. Perfect analogy.

"Failing?" she scoffed, hopping onto my bed like it was her throne. "You? Please. You’re my nerd. You’ll get a ninety at least. Seventy-five if you slack off."

That number ended up haunting me.

"I’m serious," I muttered. "I need to do well."

She tilted her head, smirking in that way that always made my brain short-circuit. "And I’m serious too."

"Then why are you here distracting me?"

"Because," she said simply, "you like me more than studying."

I didn’t answer, which she took as a go ahead.

---

Interruption #1:

A few minutes of silence passed before she decided to hop onto my bed. The mattress creaked and my focus snapped in half. She was on my bed, flipping through my old notebooks. "Oh my God, is this from high school? You drew cartoons of your teacher?!"

"That’s not for public consumption," I said without turning around.

"Too late," she laughed. "Oh, this one’s really good—"

"Val."

"Fine, fine. I’ll be quiet."

She wasn’t.

---

Interruption #2:

Ten minutes later, I felt something land on my head.

"Are you... throwing candy at me?" I turned, catching the second one mid-air.

"It’s motivation." She tossed another. "One question right, one candy."

"Val, that’s not how I—"

"Eat it, nerd."

I did. Out of spite.

---

Interruption #3:

Fifteen minutes later, she wandered into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. Except she didn’t put it down. She stood beside me, sipping slowly.

"You’re blocking my light," I said.

She took another sip. "Do you think they make lemon water at the exam hall?"

"No."

"That’s depressing. You should sneak some in."

"Val—"

"What? Hydration is important."

By the time she left—at midnight—I’d covered maybe two-thirds of what I’d planned.

---

Morning came too soon. We walked to the exam hall together, her looking like she was going to a magazine shoot while I looked like I’d crawled out of a war zone.

"You’ll do fine," she said. "You always do."

I didn’t answer.

During the paper, I knew most of the answers. But the gaps were like little knives. Every time I got stuck, I glanced toward her. She was writing like she was composing poetry, quick and certain.

When the invigilator said, "Pens down," my nerves were shot.

---

"How was it?" I asked outside, though I already knew.

She smiled faintly. "Easy. I finished with twenty minutes to spare."

I swallowed. "I... didn’t."

"Didn’t what?"

"Didn’t finish as well as I wanted."

Her tone was light, but it hit me wrong: "You could have just asked me for the answers."

I stopped walking. "That’s not the point, Val."

She frowned. "Then what is?"

"That I tried to study last night and you wouldn’t let me."

Her expression flickered—hurt, then disbelief. "You’re... blaming me?"

"I’m saying I needed space." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "And you didn’t give it."

"Oh, I’m so sorry for wanting to spend time with my boyfriend," she said, her voice icing over. "Next time I’ll schedule an appointment two weeks in advance."

"Don’t twist it," I said, heat rising in my chest. "I’m asking for balance, not a calendar invite."

She crossed her arms. "Maybe you just don’t know how to have a life and study at the same time."

"And maybe you don’t know when to stop pushing."

The air between us went razor-sharp.

"Fine," she said finally, stepping back. "You want space? You’ve got it."

She turned and walked away, her heels clicking like a metronome counting down the seconds until I regretted every word.

---

That night, I was still at my desk, staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, when there was a knock.

When I opened the door, she was standing there in sweats and a hoodie, hair in a messy bun, a tote bag over her shoulder.

"Hi," she said softly.

"...Hi."

"I brought books," she said, lifting the bag slightly. "And snacks. And I’ll actually be quiet this time."

"Are you... apologizing?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Don’t push it."

But when she stepped inside, she looked smaller somehow—less like the hurricane who’d blown my study plan to pieces, and more like someone who realized she might’ve gone too far.

We set up at the table. True to her word, she didn’t distract me—much. She still occasionally nudged my arm when I frowned too hard, and once she unwrapped a candy and popped it into my mouth mid-equation, but she also patiently explained the formula I could never keep straight.

Hours passed quietly. Warmly.

When we finally closed our books, she curled up on my couch.

"See?" she murmured. "We can be productive."

I watched her for a moment, the fight from earlier already feeling miles away. "...Thanks, Val."

Her eyes were already closing. "You’re my favorite distraction."

And I realized, with a twist in my chest, that I didn’t really mind.

---

To be continued...