Ember's POV - PRESENT DAY
The hour lasts forever.
Professor Blackwell lectures brilliantly—his voice confident, his knowledge impressive, his passion for literature obvious. He discusses the syllabus, explains his expectations, challenges students who give lazy answers.
Any other day, I'd be fascinated. Taking notes. Eager to engage.
Instead, I'm dying inside.
Every time he speaks, I hear the way his voice sounded in the dark. Rough with want. Whispering my name like a prayer.
Every time he moves, I remember his hands on my skin. Patient. Attentive. Learning what made me gasp.
Stop. Stop thinking about it.
But I can't stop. Not when he's right there, ten feet away, pretending we're strangers.
Your first assignment, he says, turning to write on the board, is an essay analyzing forbidden love in literature. Choose any text where desire conflicts with duty. Romeo and Juliet. Anna Karenina. Wuthering Heights. He pauses, and I swear his shoulders tense. Examine what happens when people pursue what they want despite knowing the consequences.
A girl behind me whispers, He's so hot for a professor.
Right? I'm definitely going to office hours, another giggles.
Jealousy spikes through me—sharp and completely inappropriate.
He's not yours, I remind myself viciously. He was never yours.
Professor Blackwell continues lecturing about the reading list, about his grading policy, about academic integrity.
His eyes never land on me. Not once.
It's deliberate. Obvious. He's avoiding looking at me the same way I'm trying not to stare at him.
This is going to be a disaster.
Finally—finally—he glances at the clock. That's all for today. Read the first chapter of your chosen text by Wednesday. Class dismissed.
Everyone stands, gathering bags and notebooks. I need to leave. Need to get out before—
Miss Hayes.
I freeze.
His voice cuts through the noise of departing students. Formal. Cold. Nothing like the way he said my name two weeks ago.
Stay behind, please. I need to speak with you.
Curious glances land on me as the last students file out. A few people whisper. Great. Exactly what I need—more attention.
The door closes with a soft click.
We're alone.
The silence is deafening.
Adrian—Professor Blackwell—runs a hand through his hair. The gesture is so familiar it hurts.
Ember
Don't. My voice shakes. Don't call me that. Not here.
He stops. Starts again. Miss Hayes, then. He takes a breath. I had no idea. When I accepted this position, when I came to town early to— He cuts himself off. It doesn't matter now. What matters is establishing clear boundaries.
You think I don't know we need boundaries? Anger flares hot in my chest. You think I planned this?
Of course not. But we're here now, and we need to address it professionally. His jaw clenches. What happened between us cannot happen again. I could lose my job. You could be expelled. Do you understand?
Yes, I understand! I'm standing now, my hands clenched into fists. I'm not an idiot. I know what's at stake.
I'm not saying you're— He stops, visibly struggling for control. This is an impossible situation. For both of us.
So what do you want me to do? Drop your class? Transfer schools? Pretend I don't remember— I cut myself off before I say something I can't take back.
I want you to stay in my class, he says quietly. You earned your place here. I won't let one night compromise your education.
One night. The words taste bitter. Is that all it was to you?
His eyes flash. Don't.
Don't what? Ask questions? Pretend this doesn't matter?
Yes! The word explodes out of him. Then, quieter, Yes. That's exactly what we need to do. Pretend it doesn't matter. Pretend we're strangers. Because the alternative is—
What? Honest?
Destructive. He steps closer before catching himself, forcing his feet to stop. Ember—Miss Hayes—I am not going to be the professor who ruins a brilliant student's future because I couldn't control myself.
What about what I want?
What you want could destroy your academic career. His voice is anguished. They won't care that we met before the semester started. They won't care that neither of us knew. They'll see a professor who slept with his student, and you'll be labeled as the girl who used her body to get good grades.
The words hit like a slap.
That's not fair.
No, it's not. But it's reality. He takes a breath, rebuilding his professional mask. Here's what's going to happen. You'll remain in my class. I'll grade your work fairly—if anything, I'll be harder on you to avoid any appearance of favoritism. You'll attend regular class sessions and complete all assignments. We will maintain appropriate professional distance at all times.
And that's it? We just pretend?
Yes. We pretend. His hands clench at his sides. It's the only way to protect both of us.
I should agree. Should be grateful he's trying to handle this responsibly.
Instead, I feel like I'm losing something I never really had.
Fine, I say, grabbing my bag. Professional distance. Got it.
I head for the door.
Ember.
I stop but don't turn around.
I'm sorry, he says quietly. For all of this. If I could change it—
But you can't. I cut him off. Neither of us can. So let's just... move forward.
I walk out before he can see the tears threatening to spill.
The hallway is empty. Everyone else has already left for their next class.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath.
Two weeks ago, Adrian made me feel alive. Powerful. Seen.
Now he makes me feel like a complication. A problem to be managed.
My phone buzzes. A text from Riley: How bad was it?
Worse than I imagined, I type back.
Coffee after your next class? You can tell me everything.
Yeah. I need it.
I push off the wall and head to my next class—Introduction to Philosophy, taught by someone who is definitely not Adrian.
The day drags. Philosophy is interesting but I can't focus. Composition is fine but boring. By the time I meet Riley at the campus coffee shop, I'm exhausted.
Spill, she demands, sliding a latte across the table.
I tell her everything. The lecture. The office conversation. The way he looked at me like I was a mistake he regretted.
He's trying to protect you, Riley says when I finish.
I know. I just— I wrap my hands around the warm cup. Two weeks ago, he looked at me like I was extraordinary. Now he can barely look at me at all.
That's not because you're not extraordinary. It's because you are. Riley leans forward. Think about it, Ember. If you didn't matter, this would be easy. He'd just be your professor and you'd be his student and that would be it. But you do matter. And that's what makes it impossible.
So what do I do?
You survive. You excel in his class. You prove that you're there because you're brilliant, not because of what happened. She pauses. And you keep your distance. No matter how hard it is.
Keep your distance.
It sounds simple.
It's not.
Over the next week, I discover just how hard professional distance actually is.
Wednesday's class is torture. Adrian lectures on Anna Karenina—a novel about forbidden love and devastating consequences. Every word feels personal.
Anna destroys her life for passion, he says, pacing at the front of the room. She chooses desire over duty, knowing society will condemn her. The question isn't whether she was wrong. The question is whether the cost was worth it.
A student raises her hand. But doesn't she have a right to be happy? Why should she stay in a loveless marriage just because society expects it?
Rights and consequences aren't the same thing, Adrian responds. She had every right to pursue happiness. But that didn't protect her from the fallout. Sometimes the bravest choice is also the most destructive.
His eyes flicker to me for just a second.
I look away, my chest tight.
After class, I try to leave quickly, but he calls my name again.
Miss Hayes. A moment.
Everyone else files out, whispering. I'm sure rumors are already starting.
Your essay topic, he says when we're alone, holding up the form I submitted. You chose Romeo and Juliet.
Is that a problem?
No. But I want to make sure you're approaching it critically, not romantically. Romeo and Juliet isn't a love story. It's a tragedy about impulsive decisions and devastating consequences.
I know what it is.
Do you? He sets down the paper. Because many students romanticize it. They see star-crossed lovers defying the world. They miss that the 'defiance' kills six people and destroys two families.
I'm not going to romanticize it, I say tightly. Trust me, I understand that some attractions lead to disaster.
The words hang between us, loaded with meaning.
Adrian's jaw clenches. Good. I expect your rough draft by next Wednesday.
You'll have it.
I turn to leave.
Ember—Miss Hayes.
I stop.
You're doing well in class. Your participation is strong. Your insights are sharp. He pauses. I want you to know that. Whatever else is... complicated... your work is excellent.
The compliment shouldn't matter this much.
But it does.
Thank you, Professor Blackwell.
I leave before the conversation can become more than it should be.
The week continues. Friday's class introduces our next text—Wuthering Heights. Another story about obsessive, destructive love.
Is he doing this on purpose? Choosing texts that mirror our situation?
After class, a guy named Marcus catches up with me in the hallway.
Hey, Ember, right?
Yeah.
I'm Marcus. I sit two rows behind you. He's cute—friendly smile, easy confidence. A bunch of us are forming a study group for Blackwell's class. Want to join? He seems like a hard grader.
A study group. Normal college activity. Exactly what I should be doing.
Sure. That sounds great.
Awesome. Here's my number. I'll text you details about when we're meeting.
We exchange numbers. Marcus leaves, and I feel slightly better.
See? I can do this. I can be a normal student having normal college experiences.
I don't need Adrian.
Except on Monday, everything changes.
I arrive at class early, hoping to avoid the rush. The room is empty except for Professor Blackwell at his desk, grading papers.
He looks up when I enter.
For one unguarded moment, I see it—the same heat from that night. The same want.
Then it's gone, locked behind professionalism.
Miss Hayes. You're early.
I wanted to review my notes before class.
I move to sit in my usual front-row seat, but he speaks again.
Perhaps you should sit further back. Front row can be... distracting.
The words are careful. Professional.
But I hear what he's really saying: I can't handle having you this close.
Of course, I say quietly. Wouldn't want to distract you, Professor.
I move to the back row.
Other students start arriving. Riley slides in beside me, raising her eyebrows in question. I shake my head slightly—I'll explain later.
Class begins.
Adrian lectures on Catherine and Heathcliff—their obsessive love, their inability to let each other go, the way their passion destroys everyone around them.
Some connections are too powerful to ignore, he says, his voice measured. But acting on them can have consequences we never intended. The question becomes: when is it worth the risk, and when is distance the only responsible choice?
A girl raises her hand. But don't they deserve happiness? Why should they deny what they feel?
Because feelings aren't always enough, Adrian responds. Because sometimes caring about someone means protecting them from yourself.
His eyes meet mine across the room.
And I realize this isn't just a lecture.
It's a message.
He's telling me that staying away is how he protects me.
That distance is his way of caring.
And that no matter what we feel, nothing can ever happen between us.
The most forbidden thing about our attraction isn't that he's my professor.
It's that he's right.