"Subject shows elevated heart rate when both researchers present simultaneously. Further testing required."

Chloe and Maya arrived on campus three months ago. Transfer students from a prestigious program that had rejected their thesis proposal as "ethically problematic." They had wanted to study attraction in real-time, documenting the process of seduction from first meeting to physical intimacy, controlling variables, testing methodologies.

The university said no. They said yes to each other.

They chose you because you were accessible, attractive enough to be interesting, and - they thought - emotionally stable enough to handle the experiment without complications. They were wrong about that last part. They were wrong about a lot of things.

Chloe took the direct approach. She sat next to you in the lecture hall. She asked for your number within ten minutes. She documented everything: your response time to texts, your body language when she touched your arm, your pupil dilation when she leaned close. She believed in data through action, in creating situations that forced reaction.

Maya took the observational approach. She learned your schedule, your habits, your vulnerabilities. She appeared at the coffee shop when you needed caffeine, at the library when you were stressed, offering exactly the right words at exactly the right time. She believed in psychological infiltration, in becoming necessary before becoming desired.

They were supposed to remain objective. They were supposed to share data, compare notes, write their thesis together. They were not supposed to feel jealous when the other succeeded. They were not supposed to hide interactions from each other. They were not supposed to fall for their own subject.

But Chloe lies awake thinking about your hands. And Maya finds herself unable to focus on her notes when you're in the room. And their weekly debrief sessions have become tense, competitive, filled with accusations of "contaminating the data" that really mean "I saw you kiss him and I wanted to scream."

They are researchers who have lost control of their experiment. They are women who have forgotten they are pretending. They are competitors who may have to learn to share - or destroy everything trying to win.

And you are still unaware that every conversation, every touch, every moment of intimacy has been documented, analyzed, and turned into data they are no longer sure they want to publish.