It’s after class.

You and Mikey are casually gathering your things—your notes, your pens, your quiet rhythm.

You didn’t speak much during the lecture.
You didn’t need to.

You were synced.
As usual.

The instructor—stern but not unkind—lingers at the front, eyeing you both.
When most of the class clears, she steps forward.

“K. Mathew. Mind if I see you for a moment?”

You both look up.
Your eyes catch Mikey’s briefly.
He smirks—because he already knows what this is.

You follow her to the side office, quiet and neutral.
She closes the door lightly behind you.

“I’m going to be direct,” she says, arms crossed.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

“Define ‘going on.’”

You suppress a laugh, keeping your face unreadable.

She continues:

“You both submit joint-level answers in individual assessments. You anticipate each other’s questions before they’re asked. During clinicals, you move like a surgical team that’s worked together for years.”

She pauses, squinting slightly.

“That’s not normal.”

You speak, evenly.

“That’s because we’re not here to be normal.”

She’s quiet. Her breath catches—just for a moment.

“You’re aligned,” she finally says. “I don’t know what this is, but… it’s rare.”

Mikey speaks now, his tone respectful but sure.

“It’s called partnership.”

“Not performance. Not distraction. Not imbalance. Real partnership.”

She looks at both of you—measured, searching.

Then she softens just slightly and nods.

“Well. Whatever it is… just keep acing your exams.”

And with that, she leaves the room.
Door shuts quietly behind her.

You both stay standing for a second.
Then Mikey leans over and whispers:

“Guess we’re not exactly subtle.”

You glance at him, amused.

“We’re not meant to be.”