Chapter Three

Assigned Seats

By the third Thursday, Maya had stopped pretending that she wasn't expecting to see Ethan when she walked into the book club, although she still refused to admit that to herself in any serious way because acknowledging it would make the thought feel far more significant than she believed it deserved to be. She had spent most of the afternoon in the library working on an essay that had somehow taken three hours longer than expected, and by the time she finally closed her laptop, her mind felt crowded with half-finished arguments, quotations she wasn't sure she had interpreted correctly and the persistent thought that she desperately needed something that wasn't academic work. The book club usually provided that escape, and as she crossed the courtyard toward the old building, she found herself looking toward the entrance almost automatically, wondering whether he would already be there.

He wasn't.

For some reason, that disappointed her more than she expected.

Maya told herself it was because she had become accustomed to seeing him there, which was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and she refused to examine the fact that she had spent the entire walk from the library wondering what they would talk about that evening. She entered the room, greeted a few familiar people and took her usual place near the window, pulling her book from her bag and placing it carefully on the table. The meeting's chosen novel was considerably thicker than the previous one, and Maya had already developed strong feelings about several of its characters, which meant that she was looking forward to the discussion almost as much as she was looking forward to proving that her interpretation was correct.

She had just begun reading through one of her underlined passages when someone pulled out the chair opposite her.

"You're in my seat."

Maya looked up.

Ethan stood there with his backpack over one shoulder, his glasses slightly crooked as though he had put them on while walking, and an expression that was far too amused for someone who had just accused her of stealing a chair.

"Your seat?" she repeated.

He nodded solemnly. "I've sat there twice."

"That's not how seats work."

"It is if there's a pattern."

"There is no pattern."

"There is now."

Maya stared at him for a moment, trying very hard not to smile. "You came here three minutes before me and you're already claiming territory?"

"I thought computer science students were supposed to be logical," one of the other members remarked from nearby.

Ethan glanced toward them. "I'm learning."

Maya laughed and moved her book slightly to make room on the table. "Fine, sit down before you start filing paperwork."

He took the chair, setting his notebook beside him, and for a moment neither of them said anything. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, however, and Maya was beginning to notice that silences with Ethan rarely were. He didn't seem to feel the need to fill every quiet moment with conversation, which she appreciated because she had always found people who talked simply because they were afraid of silence exhausting.

The coordinator eventually entered and began arranging everyone into smaller discussion groups, explaining that the club was trying something different that week because the novel was longer and more complicated than their usual selections. Maya listened while finishing the last sip of her tea, only to look up when she heard her own name followed immediately by Ethan's.

"You two can work together for this section."

Maya turned toward Ethan.

Ethan turned toward Maya.

Neither of them spoke for a second.

Then Maya leaned closer and whispered, "This feels suspicious."

"Why?"

"Because someone is deliberately putting us together."

"Maybe they think we'll have good discussions."

"Or maybe they know you'll annoy me."

"I haven't even started."

"Exactly."

Their assigned task was simple enough: choose one passage from the middle section of the novel and discuss how the author's use of memory affected the protagonist's decisions. Maya immediately opened her copy to the section she had marked, while Ethan flipped through his own book with the calm concentration of someone who had already organised his thoughts before sitting down.

"You marked this one?" he asked.

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"Because it's good."

"That's not an explanation."

"It is when the book is good."

He smiled and leaned closer to look at the page she had indicated. Maya became suddenly aware of how close he was, not in any dramatic or uncomfortable sense, but simply enough for her to notice the faint scent of his shampoo and the way his glasses caught the light from the window. She shifted her attention back toward the book before her brain could turn an ordinary moment into something worth thinking about.

"What do you think the memory is doing here?" Ethan asked.

Maya looked at him. "Making the present impossible to separate from the past."

He considered that for a moment. "I think it's also making the character unreliable."

"How?"

"Because we never actually know whether the memory is accurate or whether she's remembering it differently because of what happened afterward."

Maya stopped, her pencil hovering above the page.

"That's actually interesting."

He looked amused. "You sound surprised."

"I am."

"You're getting predictable."

"And you're getting confident."

"Maybe I've been encouraged."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile she was trying to hide betrayed her.

For the next half hour, they worked through the passage together, and Maya found herself enjoying the discussion far more than she had expected. Ethan approached literature differently from her; where Maya instinctively focused on language, emotion and character, he often looked for structure, patterns and contradictions, and instead of making their interpretations clash, the differences somehow made the conversation richer. She would point out a particular phrase and explain why she thought the author had chosen it, and Ethan would connect it to something three chapters earlier that she hadn't noticed, which would send them both back through their books searching for the reference.

At one point Maya looked at the growing collection of notes between them and shook her head.

"You've turned a book-club discussion into a research project."

"You've written four pages."

"Those are feelings."

"They're very organised feelings."

She looked down at her notebook and realised that he was right. Her notes were divided into quotations, observations, questions and what she had apparently titled things that make absolutely no sense, which was considerably more embarrassing now that someone else had seen them.

"Don't judge my system."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm impressed."

That silenced her for a moment.

She looked at him, trying to decide whether he was teasing her, but his expression was completely sincere.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

He gave a small nod and returned to the book.

The rest of the meeting passed more quickly than Maya wanted it to. When the discussion finally ended, everyone began gathering their books and coats, and Maya slipped her notebook into her bag while Ethan packed his laptop away. She expected them to walk to the library together as they had the previous week, but before either of them could suggest it, one of the other members approached them.

"You two are walking together again?"

Maya looked up. "Apparently."

The girl smiled knowingly before walking away, and Maya watched her disappear through the doorway.

"What was that about?" Ethan asked.

"Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing."

"It was absolutely nothing."

He smiled. "Okay."

They left the building together, walking beneath the old archway and into the cool evening. The courtyard was quieter than it had been the previous week, and a thin layer of mist had begun settling over the grass. Maya pulled her coat closer around herself as they walked, while Ethan adjusted his glasses before looking toward her.

"Same route?"

"Same route."

"Good."

She glanced at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I like the walk."

Maya looked ahead again, but the small smile that appeared on her face stayed there for the rest of the evening.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that, somewhere along the way, the walk to the library had stopped being simply a walk to the library and had quietly become something they both expected.

By the third Thursday, Maya had stopped pretending that she wasn't expecting to see Ethan when she walked into the book club, although she still refused to admit that to herself in any serious way because acknowledging it would make the thought feel far more significant than she believed it deserved to be. She had spent most of the afternoon in the library working on an essay that had somehow taken three hours longer than expected, and by the time she finally closed her laptop, her mind felt crowded with half-finished arguments, quotations she wasn't sure she had interpreted correctly and the persistent thought that she desperately needed something that wasn't academic work. The book club usually provided that escape, and as she crossed the courtyard toward the old building, she found herself looking toward the entrance almost automatically, wondering whether he would already be there.

He wasn't.

For some reason, that disappointed her more than she expected.

Maya told herself it was because she had become accustomed to seeing him there, which was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and she refused to examine the fact that she had spent the entire walk from the library wondering what they would talk about that evening. She entered the room, greeted a few familiar people and took her usual place near the window, pulling her book from her bag and placing it carefully on the table. The meeting's chosen novel was considerably thicker than the previous one, and Maya had already developed strong feelings about several of its characters, which meant that she was looking forward to the discussion almost as much as she was looking forward to proving that her interpretation was correct.

She had just begun reading through one of her underlined passages when someone pulled out the chair opposite her.

"You're in my seat."

Maya looked up.

Ethan stood there with his backpack over one shoulder, his glasses slightly crooked as though he had put them on while walking, and an expression that was far too amused for someone who had just accused her of stealing a chair.

"Your seat?" she repeated.

He nodded solemnly. "I've sat there twice."

"That's not how seats work."

"It is if there's a pattern."

"There is no pattern."

"There is now."

Maya stared at him for a moment, trying very hard not to smile. "You came here three minutes before me and you're already claiming territory?"

"I thought computer science students were supposed to be logical," one of the other members remarked from nearby.

Ethan glanced toward them. "I'm learning."

Maya laughed and moved her book slightly to make room on the table. "Fine, sit down before you start filing paperwork."

He took the chair, setting his notebook beside him, and for a moment neither of them said anything. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, however, and Maya was beginning to notice that silences with Ethan rarely were. He didn't seem to feel the need to fill every quiet moment with conversation, which she appreciated because she had always found people who talked simply because they were afraid of silence exhausting.

The coordinator eventually entered and began arranging everyone into smaller discussion groups, explaining that the club was trying something different that week because the novel was longer and more complicated than their usual selections. Maya listened while finishing the last sip of her tea, only to look up when she heard her own name followed immediately by Ethan's.

"You two can work together for this section."

Maya turned toward Ethan.

Ethan turned toward Maya.

Neither of them spoke for a second.

Then Maya leaned closer and whispered, "This feels suspicious."

"Why?"

"Because someone is deliberately putting us together."

"Maybe they think we'll have good discussions."

"Or maybe they know you'll annoy me."

"I haven't even started."

"Exactly."

Their assigned task was simple enough: choose one passage from the middle section of the novel and discuss how the author's use of memory affected the protagonist's decisions. Maya immediately opened her copy to the section she had marked, while Ethan flipped through his own book with the calm concentration of someone who had already organised his thoughts before sitting down.

"You marked this one?" he asked.

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"Because it's good."

"That's not an explanation."

"It is when the book is good."

He smiled and leaned closer to look at the page she had indicated. Maya became suddenly aware of how close he was, not in any dramatic or uncomfortable sense, but simply enough for her to notice the faint scent of his shampoo and the way his glasses caught the light from the window. She shifted her attention back toward the book before her brain could turn an ordinary moment into something worth thinking about.

"What do you think the memory is doing here?" Ethan asked.

Maya looked at him. "Making the present impossible to separate from the past."

He considered that for a moment. "I think it's also making the character unreliable."

"How?"

"Because we never actually know whether the memory is accurate or whether she's remembering it differently because of what happened afterward."

Maya stopped, her pencil hovering above the page.

"That's actually interesting."

He looked amused. "You sound surprised."

"I am."

"You're getting predictable."

"And you're getting confident."

"Maybe I've been encouraged."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile she was trying to hide betrayed her.

For the next half hour, they worked through the passage together, and Maya found herself enjoying the discussion far more than she had expected. Ethan approached literature differently from her; where Maya instinctively focused on language, emotion and character, he often looked for structure, patterns and contradictions, and instead of making their interpretations clash, the differences somehow made the conversation richer. She would point out a particular phrase and explain why she thought the author had chosen it, and Ethan would connect it to something three chapters earlier that she hadn't noticed, which would send them both back through their books searching for the reference.

At one point Maya looked at the growing collection of notes between them and shook her head.

"You've turned a book-club discussion into a research project."

"You've written four pages."

"Those are feelings."

"They're very organised feelings."

She looked down at her notebook and realised that he was right. Her notes were divided into quotations, observations, questions and what she had apparently titled things that make absolutely no sense, which was considerably more embarrassing now that someone else had seen them.

"Don't judge my system."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm impressed."

That silenced her for a moment.

She looked at him, trying to decide whether he was teasing her, but his expression was completely sincere.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

He gave a small nod and returned to the book.

The rest of the meeting passed more quickly than Maya wanted it to. When the discussion finally ended, everyone began gathering their books and coats, and Maya slipped her notebook into her bag while Ethan packed his laptop away. She expected them to walk to the library together as they had the previous week, but before either of them could suggest it, one of the other members approached them.

"You two are walking together again?"

Maya looked up. "Apparently."

The girl smiled knowingly before walking away, and Maya watched her disappear through the doorway.

"What was that about?" Ethan asked.

"Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing."

"It was absolutely nothing."

He smiled. "Okay."

They left the building together, walking beneath the old archway and into the cool evening. The courtyard was quieter than it had been the previous week, and a thin layer of mist had begun settling over the grass. Maya pulled her coat closer around herself as they walked, while Ethan adjusted his glasses before looking toward her.

"Same route?"

"Same route."

"Good."

She glanced at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I like the walk."

Maya looked ahead again, but the small smile that appeared on her face stayed there for the rest of the evening.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that, somewhere along the way, the walk to the library had stopped being simply a walk to the library and had quietly become something they both expected.