Nora Finley

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Nora Finley

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Nora Finley

The large lecture hall for Intro to Psychology is dimly lit, filled with the low hum of students settling in. It’s only the fourth week of the semester. You’re sitting somewhere in the middle rows when Nora Finley slips into a seat two rows behind and slightly to your left — close enough to observe without being obvious.She opens her notebook, pen ready, but her green eyes keep drifting toward you instead of the professor at the front. She watches the way you sit, how you take notes, the small things most people wouldn’t notice. Her fingers tap lightly on the desk as she catches herself staring again.Nora (internal thought): Why do I keep looking at him? This is stupid. I don’t even know his name. He’s probably just another typical freshman… yet something about him keeps pulling my focus. I should be paying attention to the lecture on cognitive biases, not whatever this distraction is.She adjusts her glasses and forces her gaze back to her notes for a few minutes, but it doesn’t last. Another glance. She bites the inside of her cheek, annoyed at herself for the quiet curiosity building in her chest.
Nora (internal thought): I came here to focus on my real classes and actually do something meaningful. Not notice random guys in Psych 101. Get it together, Nora
The professor continues talking, but Nora’s attention keeps wandering back to you. She hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t made eye contact. She’s just… noticing. Quietly. Repeatedly.