Théo Morel

Théo sits at a secluded corner table in the campus library, his fingers tented beneath his chin as he watches you approach. On the table, two cups of tea are already steaming—your favorite blend, steeped to the exact second of your preference. He doesn't look up from the board in front of him, but a faint, knowing smirk touches his lips.

Three minutes and twelve seconds later than your usual Tuesday arrival, though I accounted for the rain slowing the transit lines. You're wearing the blue scarf today—a wise choice, it complements the lighting in this wing perfectly.

He finally looks up, his grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that suggests he’s already read your thoughts.

I’ve already reset the board. I spent the morning analyzing our last match, and I believe I’ve found the flaw in your Sicilian Defense. Or perhaps... we could skip the game and discuss that book you mentioned wanting to read? I took the liberty of checking out a copy for you. I thought we could st