Professor Reed didn't acknowledge me again for the rest of the lecture.
Not when he wrote his name on the board in clean, precise strokes; not when he explained the course outline with the calm authority of someone who had never lost control of a room in his life; not when he asked a question and half the class stumbled through their answers like they were afraid of sounding wrong.
But I felt him like a subtle presence at the edge of my vision, and a memory that refused to elude mel.
I wrote notes I didn't remember taking, my handwriting was slanted and uneven, as if my hand had its own anxiety.
Ryan nudged my knee under the desk. "You're unusually quiet."
"I'm just tired," I said, and hated how easily the lie came out.
When the lecture ended, the room was suddenly filled with the sound of chairs scraping back and voices rising all at once. I packed my bag too fast, wishing that speed could undo what had already happened.
Professor Reed cleared his throat at the front.
"If anyone has questions about the syllabus, I'll be holding office hours this afternoon."
His eyes went up. They found me again, and I was already standing.
***
I didn't go to his office right away.
I took a walk around the campus instead, letting the buildings blur past me like I could outrun the guilt in my chest. Students laughed on the grass, someone played music from a speaker, while a group took pictures by the fountain, wrapping their arms around each other like it was the best moment of their lives.
I wondered how many of them were carrying secrets they didn't know how to put into words yet. By the time I found the building with his office, my palms became sweaty and my thoughts were jumbled.
The hallway was quiet in the way that made every step sound like a tray falling to the ground. His name was printed neatly on a small plaque beside the door.
Professor Reed.
I knocked.
"Come in," he said.
The office was simple. Bookshelves lined up the walls, a desk positioned near the window, two chairs facing it, like a nice invitation to sit and be vulnerable.
He stood when I walked in, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
Up close, he looked different than he had in the bar. He seemed formal and more contained. The casual mystery of that night was replaced with something professional and guarded.
"Mira," he said.
Hearing my name from him felt like a line being crossed.
"You remember," I said, before I could stop myself.
"I didn't forget," he replied.
The honesty in his voice made my stomach turn with excitement.
He gestured to the chair. "Sit."
I did.
"This is… complicated," he said carefully.
"That's one word for it."
He exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to keep his composure intact. "I didn't know you were a student here."
"I didn't know you were a professor," I shot back.
Silence settled between us.
"This can't happen again," he said.
"I didn't say I wanted it to."
The lie felt heavier than the truth.
He studied me, then really looked at me, like he was trying to decide what kind of person I was. What kind of person he was.
"You should request a different class," he said.
The words hit harder than I expected.
"I just got here," I said. "I'm not changing my schedule because of one night."
His jaw tightened. "That night was a mistake."
I stood.
"Maybe for you."
The tension in the room veered, it was subtle but undeniable.
"This isn't personal," he said. "It's professional."
"Then stop looking at me like you know me."
His gaze flickered.
"I do know you," he said quietly. "At least a version of you."
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door before he could say anything else that would lodge itself under my skin.
***
Ryan was waiting outside.
He smiled when he saw me. "There you are. I thought I lost you to your first day."
"Just… getting settled," I said.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I felt the pull of it, the familiarity, the safety I had chosen.
Professor Reed watched us from his doorway.
Our eyes met over Ryan's shoulder, but his expression didn't change.
However, something in his gaze did.
***
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the bar, the dim lights, the way his voice sounded when he said my name for the first time.
My phone buzzed on my bedside table.
Unknown number.
"You should be careful, Mira."
I sat up.
"About what?:
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
"About pretending that night never happened."
My heart pounded very fast.
"You shouldn't be texting me."
"Well, you shouldn't have come to my office."
I stared at the screen, the glow lighting up my dark room.
"I didn't plan any of this." I replied.
"Neither did I."
The conversation ended there.
But the thought of it remained.
***
The days that followed were worse.
Professor Reed never treated me differently in class. If anything, he treated me like I didn't exist. He called on everyone else, but looked past my raised hand, and walked by my row without taking a glance at me.
And somehow, that hurt more than if he'd stared.
Ryan noticed.
"You don't talk about that class much," he said one night as we walked back to our dorm.
"There's nothing to talk about."
He stopped walking. "You're pulling away."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again.
"I'm just stressed," I said.
He kissed my forehead, like that solved anything.
***
The midterm announcement came sooner than I expected.
Professor Reed handed out the assignment, explaining the expectations with his usual calm precision. When he reached my desk, he paused.
Just for a second.
"See me after class," he said quietly.
My stomach dropped.
***
His office felt different this time.
"You can't keep avoiding me," he said.
"I'm not the one who told me to change classes."
"I'm the one trying to protect both of us."
"From what?" I asked. "Feeling something?"
His eyes darkened.
"From ruining your future," he said. "And mine."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think I planned to fall into this?"
He stepped closer.
"I think you don't realize how dangerous this is."
The word lingered between us.
Dangerous.
I swallowed. "Then why did you text me?"
His silence was answer enough.
***
That night, I wrote his name in the margins of my notebook without realizing it.
Ryan called, but I let it go to voicemail. For the first time, I didn't feel like forgiving.
I felt like choosing and that terrified me more than anything else.