The train didn't wait for goodbyes.
Jennie stood on the platform with her suitcase beside her and her phone clenched tightly in her hand, watching the metal doors slide shut. The city she had grown up in blurred past the glass as the train pulled away, taking with it the last familiar piece of her life.
Her phone screen was dark.
No new messages.
No I'll miss you.
No come back soon.
Just silence—heavy and final.
Three days ago, she had said goodbye to her first love in the most cowardly way possible: through a call that ended too quickly, words tumbling over each other, both of them pretending distance was the problem instead of fear. He had sounded calm. Too calm. As if he had already accepted what she was still trying to deny.
Long-distance never works, Jennie.
We'll hurt more if we drag this.
She told herself she agreed.
She told herself many lies lately.
Now, with a new town waiting and a university she knew nothing about, Jennie felt like she had stepped into someone else's life—one where her choices were already made for her.
By the time she reached her parents' new house, exhaustion weighed down her bones. The walls smelled unfamiliar. The rooms felt hollow. That night, as she lay staring at the ceiling, her mother's words echoed louder than her thoughts.
"We've found a good family."
"He's well-settled."
"You'll learn to love him."
Marriage.
The word felt too heavy for a nineteen-year-old girl whose heart was still bruised.
Her first day at university arrived faster than she wanted.
Jennie woke with a sharp gasp, sunlight spilling mercilessly through the curtains. Her eyes snapped to the clock.
8:47 a.m.
Her first lecture started at nine.
"Oh no—no, no, no!"
She jumped out of bed, panic replacing sleep in an instant. Everything became a blur—half-buttoned shirt, tangled hair, books shoved into her bag without thought. Her hands shook as she slipped on her shoes, heart pounding like it was trying to escape her chest.
She ran.
The campus was bigger than she expected—long pathways, unfamiliar buildings, faces she didn't recognize. By the time she found the session hallway, her lungs burned and her legs felt weak.
She checked her watch.
9:02 a.m.
Just two minutes.
Jennie hesitated outside the door, fingers hovering near the handle. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, to disappear. But she had already been late enough.
She pushed the door open.
Silence slammed into her.
Dozens of eyes turned toward her at once.
Her stomach dropped.
At the front of the room stood a man in a dark blazer, chalk paused mid-air. He looked up slowly, assessing her with a sharpness that made her spine straighten without permission.
"Miss," he said, voice calm but firm, "you're late."
"I—I'm sorry," Jennie managed, her cheeks burning. "It won't happen again."
He glanced at the clock, then back at her. "You're two minutes late."
The way he said it made those two minutes feel like a crime.
"This is a university," he continued. "Punctuality is expected. Take a seat—and don't let it happen again."
There was no warmth in his tone. No understanding.
Just authority.
Jennie nodded quickly and slipped into the nearest empty chair, her heart still racing. Whispers followed her like shadows.
First day, and already in trouble.
Great start, Jennie.
She tried to focus on the lecture, but her thoughts refused to settle. The professor's voice—steady, deep, precise—filled the room, yet she couldn't stop replaying the moment he looked at her. Not angry. Not annoyed.
Just distant.
Cold.
His name was written neatly on the board.
Mr. Esler.
When the break bell rang, Jennie gathered her things, eager to escape the room and the memory of her humiliation. But before she could stand, his voice stopped her.
"Miss Jennie. Stay back."
Her heart sank.
The room emptied quickly, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. She walked toward the front, every step heavier than the last.
"Yes, sir?" she asked softly.
"Come to my office," Mr. Esler said. "Now."
His office smelled faintly of coffee and old books. The walls were lined with shelves, neatly organized, everything in its place. It suited him.
He gestured for her to sit.
She did.
"So," he began, folding his hands, "new admission?"
"Yes."
"You moved recently."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Jennie replied, surprised.
He studied her for a moment before speaking again. "Family here?"
"My parents," she said. "We shifted because of my father's work."
A pause.
"And you?"
She looked up. "Me?"
"Are you adjusting well?"
The question caught her off guard. It didn't match his earlier coldness.
"I… I think so," she said, unsure why her throat felt tight.
He nodded once. "You may go."
That was it.
No lecture. No warning.
Just dismissal.
Jennie left the office more confused than when she entered.
By the time she reached home that evening, the weight of the day pressed down on her chest. The house buzzed with preparation—flowers, sweets, quiet excitement that felt painfully loud to her.
The groom's family will arrive tonight, her mother reminded her gently.
Jennie nodded and went to her room.
She stared at herself in the mirror as she got ready, hands moving mechanically. The girl staring back looked calm, dressed beautifully, hair styled just right.
But her eyes told the truth.
She wasn't ready.
Not for marriage.
Not after heartbreak.
Not when she still felt like she was standing at the edge of her own life, unsure whether to step forward or run away.
The doorbell rang.
Voices filled the house—polite greetings, practiced smiles. Jennie sat quietly, answering when spoken to, her thoughts drifting far from the room.
"The boy will be a little late," someone said with a light laugh. "He's grown up, you know. Sent us ahead."
Grown up.
Independent.
The meeting went smoothly. Too smoothly. And just when Jennie thought it was over, the bell rang again.
"I'll get it," she said, standing up.
She opened the door.
And froze.
Standing there was Mr. Esler.
Not in his usual blazer—but in a perfectly tailored navy blue tuxedo. His hair was styled neatly, his expression unreadable, his presence commanding in a way that made the world tilt slightly off balance.
In his hands—
A bouquet of red roses.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Good evening," he said calmly.
Jennie's breath caught in her throat.
Her professor wasn't just standing at her door.
He was standing at the edge of her fate.