Survival From Walking Dead

ch : 11

Stetson pov

I sit in the quiet classroom, the only sound the scratch of my pen against paper. Beside me, the window reveals a sky heavy with clouds, the kind that threaten rain but hold back, as if undecided. I glance at the clock on the wall; it's 11 AM, the hands aligned in a brief moment of symmetry.

Turning my gaze from the window, I see Manya in the third row, her fingers dancing over her phone's screen. I wonder who's on the other end of her conversation. Behind her, Mia is absorbed in her book, her brow furrowed in concentration. A smile tugs at my lips as I recall the time we were teammates, the camaraderie, the shared victories and losses.

My eyes drift to Tavish, who's claimed the second row for himself. It's just us four today-everyone else has gone on the tour. I feel a twinge of something, not quite regret, but a sense of being left behind.

Shaking off the feeling, I return to my notebook, the pages filled with the complexities of organic chemistry. Physical chemistry has always been my true love, its precise equations and predictable reactions, but today, I lose myself in the challenge of organic structures, the dance of atoms and bonds.

The pen in my hand moves with a will of its own, tracing the pathways of reactions, the push and pull of electrons. Time slips away, measured only by the steady advance of the minute hand and the slow unfolding of understanding in my mind. The classroom, the world outside, it all fades to nothing. There's just me and the chemistry .

Lost in the labyrinth of organic chemistry, I barely registered the tap on my shoulder until I turned and found myself caught in Mia's deep brown gaze. "Oh, Mia," I murmured, a bit startled.

Her smile was a gentle curve of understanding. "Hi, Stetson," she greeted, her voice a soft melody against the backdrop of silence.
"I actually have some doubts in physical chemistry. Could you help me out?"

How could I refuse? I nodded, sliding over to make room for her. She exhaled, a quiet release of tension, and settled beside me. The book she placed on the desk revealed her elegant script, a stark contrast to my own scrawl.

"What's troubling you?" I asked, leaning in to catch a glimpse of the problem that had ensnared her.

She pointed to a question, her finger tracing the lines of text. "How do you calculate the entropy change in an isothermal expansion?"

I took my pen, the familiar weight a comfort in my hand, and flipped to a blank page in her book. "Well, for an isothermal expansion, you'd use the formula ΔS=nRln Vi/vf

where ( \Delta S ) is the entropy change, ( n ) is the number of moles, ( R ) is the gas constant, and ( V_f ) and ( V_i ) are the final and initial volumes, respectively."
Mia's eyes followed the pen as I sketched the process, her mind quick to grasp the concepts. "And what if the pressure changes?" she queried, her curiosity piqued.

"That's a bit different," I explained, "For a change in pressure at constant temperature, you'd use,

∆s = nRln = Pi/pf

I wrote down the equation, my hand steady as I detailed each step.

She nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. Mia was a swift learner; she absorbed the information like a sponge, needing little repetition. It was a pleasure to teach someone so eager and quick to understand.

______________________________________

Mia pov

I'm perched on the edge of my seat, close enough to Stetson that I can make out the faintest hint of cologne mixed with the scent of graphite and paper. His eyes, a stormy blue that I've never been brave enough to look into up close, are focused on the textbook between us. I'm a fool, an absolute fool, for not having concocted this ruse of confusion earlier.