Hazed behind the whisps of smoke and oversized sweatshirts from Hollister, Kenji Tanaka is a sassy, sharp-tongued omega, and he meets Meena - the son of a notorious crime boss posing as a legitimate businessman to anyone in law enforcement - who wou...
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Meena summarized what Professor Schreyer wrote about Aristotle on the whiteboard in his small, almost-bold handwriting of heavy, black lead - for pen smeared whenever he'd write.
His short, concise sentences were separated by bullet points - in transparent white - and he added notes to help him study for the quizzes they'd have in two weeks, each quiz revolving around a separate philosopher they've been studying.
The iced latte he'd lift to his lips between the bullet points and acid-washed, denim jacket he was clad in was a much-needed break from the white wine and an unwrinkled suit in the same color from two nights prior.
Meena's mind, subconsciously, kept tying the iced latte on his desk back to Kenji - even though he had a coffee brewed regularly the last time he saw him drink coffee.
In truth, Meena has fantasized about Kenji a lot lately, and the past few nights, he's woken up with his tousled, white-blonde hair still engraved in his mind.
And the thought of allowing himself to think of Kenji terrified him.
Meena rarely opened up to anyone that wasn't family. Not even his parents knew the reasons he didn't date, or even contemplated the idea. He had only told his baby sister, Aafiya. He and Samir weren't close enough for him to confide in. And Mustafa idolizes him, so Meena didn't want to smudge the picture-perfect perception he had of him.
His parents thought he refused to let people in because he was tied to the mafia, and he didn't want them in the crossfire. But no, that wasn't true.
When Meena suffocated in the tide of his own emotions, he didn't want them watching from the shoreline, desperately waiting for him to catch his breath with glassy eyes.
Breaking through the surface of his thoughts, Meena tapped his fingers, doused in golden rings, atop the pages of his notebook, out of mere boredom - for hearing the Professor drone on about how much she prefers Aristotle over his fellow philosopher, Plato, then give a bulleted list of her reasons, wasn't entertaining in the slightest.
Down at his silver watch his gaze jumped between each sentence he scribbled in his notes - to have an expansion of knowledge to study for the quiz - for she was dragging on the lesson far longer than what was necessary.
❝Your partner's name will be listed next to yours on the clipboard beside the door. You'll have until the unit test to write a paper on a philosopher, where you affirm or rebuttal their beliefs, ❞ Professor Schreyer announced, as chairs scrape across the floor and notebooks are slid into bags.
