Love is not important; slack off and flirt with Emma

The question is funny to you. It seems as though it'd be really sad to give so much power to all the people around you, and claim that they are the ones who make your life worth living. It doesn't matter whether it's a family relationship, a friend, or sexual. There are so many things to enjoy in life and find meaning in. Why hyperfixate on how other people feel about you?

You realize, as you ponder, that everyone else is already writing. Including Emma next to you. How much were you supposed to write, anyway? Professor Lemburg wasn't clear. Is she grading this? You write one sentence about how love is not important, then you glance over at Emma.

"Hey," you whisper. "What was your answer?"

She looks up, at first a little bit annoyed, then glances at the paragraph she's written and seems to decide it's enough. "Love is overrated. All these songs and movies and books just obsess over it, and like...maybe it's good? But I don't think that matters in light of how much society needs to get over it. Too many people think it's the focal point of their life."

"Oof," you whisper, "who hurt you?"

She smiles. "If you were listening, instead of finding ways to glance at my chest when I was bending over to read my answer, you'd know it's not about that. It's about society."

"And what about you glancing at me?" you ask.

Her lips purse. "What?"

"You know, when I was carrying your luggage, and you looked at my arms?"

"Well maybe you just have nice arms."

"And maybe you just have nice breasts."

"Well maybe," she smirks. "We'll make a truce. I have free license to check you out, and you can do the same for me?"

"Deal."

You really think that you are going to hook up with this girl by the end of the year, if not the semester. God bless.

The class goes on. After twenty minutes Lemburg ends the writing exercise, and goes on to talking about the syllabus. You tune a lot of it out, as it's what you've heard before. At the end of the class, Emma starts packing up.

"See you soon, Ryan," she smiles. "Maybe you'll see my thong someday."

You answer affirmatively. "Bet."

"I said maybe."

"And that's not how I choose to hear it."

She grins and sways her hips as she walks away.