The door to Professor Amelia's office was always open on Wednesdays. Still, Mara knocked. "Come in," the professor said without looking up, her fingers moving swiftly through the stack of papers. Mara stepped inside, clutching her notebook tighter than necessary. The office smelled like old books and coffee that had gone cold hours ago. Sunlight spilled across the desk, catching on the thin gold ring on Professor Amelia's finger as she turned a page.
"Yes, Mara?" she asked, finally lifting her eyes. That was always the problem—the eyes. Mara swallowed, feeling a flicker of that familiar nervousness. "I…I wanted to talk about my thesis direction. I think I'm stuck."
Professor Amelia leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. Calm. Professional. Always professional. "Sit." Mara sat, arranging her notebook on her lap like a shield. They talked theory first—citations, frameworks, arguments. Safe things. Academic things. But every time Mara spoke, the professor listened like the words mattered. Like she mattered.
"You're holding back," Professor Amelia said gently, her voice cutting through Mara's rambling thoughts. "Your ideas are sharper than this." Mara laughed, nervous. "You always say that." "Because it's always true."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. Mara blurted, "Why did you choose this field?" Professor Amelia paused. That wasn't on the syllabus. Her expression shifted, something fleeting crossing her features.
"Because," she said slowly, "I wanted to understand desire without letting it ruin me." Mara's breath caught. "I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," the professor interrupted, softer now. "Curiosity is part of learning." Their eyes met. The air shifted—subtle, dangerous. Mara felt the weight of it, like a string pulled taut between them.
Professor Amelia stood abruptly. "You should go." Mara froze. "Did I say or do something wrong?" "No," she said too quickly. Then quieter: "You didn't."
Mara gathered her things, heart pounding. At the door, she turned back. "Do you ever regret choosing restraint?" The professor's jaw tightened. "Yes," she admitted. "Every day."
Mara left before either of them could say more. The hallway outside felt emptier than she'd expected. She stopped a few steps away, exhaling slowly. What just happened?
The memory of Professor Amelia's eyes lingered. Mara wondered if she'd see her again on Wednesday, like always? She touched her own wrist, feeling something. Restraint? Desire? Both?
The quiet of the academic hallway swallowed her thoughts. Mara walked on, unsure what she'd do next, but knowing she'd figure it. She replayed the conversation, the looks, the words. Something simmered beneath the surface, waiting.
She thought about Professor Amelia's words, the way she said them—like they were both in on a secret only they didn't know. The rest of the day passed in a haze. Mara attended classes, took notes, but her mind kept drifting back to the office, the professor's eyes, the tension.
That night, Mara wrote in her journal, trying to make sense of it all. She wrote about the way Professor Amelia's voice dropped when she talked about desire. About how Mara felt seen in a way she wasn't used to. About the fear of what came next.
The next few days blurred together. Mara avoided the professor's office, telling herself she was busy. But she wasn't. She was scared. Scared of what might happen if she went back, if she let things unravel.
Mara's phone buzzed with a message from a friend. _Hey, coffee tomorrow?_ She stared at the screen, unanswered. What was she waiting for? A sign? A push? She typed _Yeah, sure_ but didn't send it. Instead, she dropped her phone on the bed and walked to the window. The campus was quiet, except for a few students lingering by the library. Mara felt a pang of longing. She wanted to be like them—carefree, uncomplicated.
The night dragged on. Mara read a book, tried to sleep, failed. Her mind kept circling back to Professor Amelia's words: _I wanted to understand desire without letting it ruin me._ What did it mean to want something that much? To chase understanding at the cost of…what?
At dawn, Mara gave up on sleep. She dressed quietly and headed out. The campus was empty, dew still clinging to the grass. She walked to the library, the smell of old books and fresh paper enveloping her. Inside, she found a corner, opened her notebook, and began to write. Words flowed—about desire, restraint, Professor Amelia. The pages filled with thoughts she hadn't let herself think.
Hours passed. The library grew brighter as sunlight filtered through the windows. Mara stopped writing when her hand ached. She looked up, disoriented, and found Professor Amelia standing by her table, a stack of books in her arms.
"Morning," she said softly. Mara's heart skipped. "Hi."
Professor Amelia glanced at the open notebook, then back at Mara. "Writing?"
Mara nodded, feeling exposed. "Trying to figure things out."
The professor's expression turned thoughtful. "Sometimes writing is the only way to understand what we want."
Their eyes met. This time, Mara didn't look away.
Mara held professor Amelia's gaze, the library's quiet enveloping them like a shroud. The stack of books in the professor's arms seemed tremble, ever so slightly.
"I… I didn't expect to see you here", Mara said finally , her voice barely above a whisper.
Professor Amelia set the books down on a nearby chair. "I had some research to catch up on". Her eyes drifted back to Mara's notebook, pages filled with messy, impassioned writing. "Looks like you did too."
Mara's cheeks flushed. She hadn't meant to leave it open. "Just.. thinking," she mumbled
The professor nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thinking's good. Sometimes it's all we can do."
The air between them thickened. Mara felt the weight of unspoken words, like an invisible tide pulling them closer.
"Want to grab a coffee with me?"
Professor Amelia asked suddenly.
Mara's geart skipped. She searched the professor's face, looking for..what? A hint of intention? A sign she wasn't crazy or dreaming? But professor Amelia's expression was neutral, almost clinical.