Around you, chairs scrape back. Laughter bubbles up, not the kind from before a test, but the giddy, unrestrained kind of freedom. And everywhere, the clinging. Hands held across desks. Heads resting on shoulders. A boy tucks a strand of hair behind his girlfriend’s ear, his thumb lingering on her cheek.

You don’t look. You keep your gaze fixed on the grain of the fake wood veneer on your desk, the hood of your gray sweatshirt pulled low, the black cloth mask secure over your nose and mouth. You’ve perfected the art of not seeing.

The afternoon sun is a heavy, orange weight as you step outside. The sidewalk is a river of students, most already fused at the hip with their soulmates. You keep to the edge, your hands shoved deep in your pockets.

You pull out your phone, the screen a cool rectangle against the warmth of the day. You tap the familiar icon: Soulmate Chase Channel. The video loads—grainy, shaky, shot from a balcony. Down on a city street, a woman is running, her face a mask of panic. A man is gaining on her, his expression one of desperate, singular focus. The caption scrolls below: Subject 447 evaded initial contact for 72 hours. Pursuit intensity: HIGH.