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Summary
“Honestly? I say lean into it.” Anathema leaned forward, twirling her straw around in her iced latte. "Who knows. Sometimes stuff is just weird or inexplicable. Ineffable! Like you said. If it really is that out of the ordinary, there's gotta be a reason, right?"
"Hey, maybe the two of you knew each other in a past life or something," Newt said blithely, his eyes once again glued to the page in front of him, red pen to paper, scratching down notes in his nigh illegible shorthand. Anthony had always wondered how his students managed to decipher it. He scoffed.
"Ha ha," he uttered dryly, reaching back into his messenger bag to finally pull out the stack of neglected exams. "Come on, Newt, I'm a scientist. You know I don't believe in any of that stuff."
Newt looked up from his work a final time, staring at Anthony in a manner that made him feel strangely exposed.
"Doesn't mean you can't be wrong, mate."