Page 38 of Johan.

Conrad smiles, clinking his glass against mine. “Anytime, mate. Just remember, we're in this together. Whatever happens with Astrid and Ludovic, we've got your back.”

I smile, feeling a renewed sense of determination. This break is just what I need to recharge and face the challenges ahead. Asthe party continues, I feel a glimmer of hope that things might just work out after all.

The private member club is a world away from the usual student haunts. The opulent surroundings, with their dark wood paneling, soft leather chairs, and ambient lighting, exude a sense of exclusivity and refinement. The sounds of clinking glasses and subdued laughter create a sophisticated background hum.

As I navigate through the crowd with Conrad, I suddenly spot Hannah across the room. She’s surrounded by a group of people, including a guy I don’t recognize. She’s laughing, her face bright with joy, and the sight creates a pang of jealousy that hits me hard. A swirl of questions races through my mind. Why is she here? Did Conrad invite her without telling me? And who is that guy she’s laughing with?

For a moment, I hesitate. Do I really want to approach her, knowing it might stir up more complicated emotions? I watch her from a distance, taking in how beautiful she looks tonight. Her dress is elegant, accentuating her body perfectly, and her smile lights up the room. The sight of her laughing so freely tugs at my heart. I can’t stand here and do nothing.

Gathering my courage, I decide to approach her. As I make my way over, the room feels like it’s closing in, the noise fading into the background. I take a moment to appreciate the decor—the intricate moldings on the ceiling, the rich tapestry of the carpet underfoot—before finally reaching her.

Hannah looks up as I approach, her face lighting up with a smile. “Johan, you made it!” she says warmly, though I can see the surprise in her eyes. “This is Mark, a friend from my history class. Mark, this is Johan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Mark’s hand briefly, trying to keep my tone polite. My mind is still whirling with questions and emotions. Why does it bother me so much to see her laughing with him?

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” I ask, turning my attention back to Hannah.

She nods, excusing herself from the group. We weave through the crowd, the atmosphere growing more intimate as we find a quieter corner of the club, away from prying eyes and ears. The soft glow of wall sconces casts a warm light, creating a sense of privacy.

“Regarding the Christmas week with your family,” I begin, trying to keep my voice steady. “Are they really down with it?”

Hannah takes out her phone, her fingers poised to dial. “Of course they are. Here, I’m calling Oma so she can invite you directly,” she says, looking up at me with a reassuring smile.

“Okay, fine, I trust you,” I say, a bit relieved. “I'm down, then. When are we leaving?”

“Really?” Hannah’s face lights up with excitement. She steps forward and embraces me, her joy palpable. Without thinking twice, she kisses me right there in the club. I feel a rush of warmth but quickly push her back, glancing around nervously.

“Hannah, we're in public,” I remind her gently.

“Okay, but technically you’re no longer my teacher,” she counters, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Yes, but I’m still engaged,” I reply, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. I see her excitement dim, replaced by a shadow of sadness.

“I know, I just?—”

I take her hand, my fingers rubbing her knuckles softly. “Once we gather evidence that Ludovic is stealing the artifacts from the Oman government, I’ll be able to go to the council and turn the tables against him and Astrid. All we need is some time.”

Hannah nods, a spark of hope returning to her eyes. I take her hand, feeling the urgency to be alone with her. We weave through the elegantly decorated corridors, the sounds of theparty fading behind us. The polished wood and rich fabrics of the club exude luxury, and the soft lighting creates an intimate ambiance.

I open a few doors until I find an empty room, likely a guest bedroom. I pull her inside, closing the door firmly behind us. The room is dimly lit, with a plush bed and a small seating area. The faint scent of lavender hangs in the air, adding to the sense of seclusion.

Hannah steps closer, her eyes searching mine. I lean in, and we start making out, all the pent-up emotions of the past few months spilling over. Her hands find their way to my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I respond with equal fervor.

We pause, our foreheads gently resting against each other, our breaths still heavy and uneven. The silence between us hums with the weight of unspoken words. “Hannah,” I whisper softly, my voice raw with longing, “You know how much I wish things were different, right?”

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a breath. Her fingers tighten slightly against me as she adds, “But for now, let’s just be here, in this moment.”

17

Hannah

I siton the edge of my bed, the phone in my hand feeling heavier than ever. The room is quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on my nightstand. Morning light streams through the window, casting a warm glow over my quilt. The world outside is starting to bustle with the activities of a Saturday morning, but inside, I’m a bundle of nerves. I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my stomach, and dial Oma’s number. Each ring seems to stretch out, the seconds dragging on until, finally, she answers.

“Darling, what a surprise!” Oma’s voice crackles through the line, warm and comforting.

I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. “Hi, Oma. How are you?” I try to mask the tremble in my voice, but it slips through.

“I'm good, dear. Busy with the Christmas decorations. You know how it is. Stuart! I said white and gold, not red!” The background noise makes me long for the cozy chaos of her home.

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