My Professor, My Fiancé

Chapter 1: Unwanted Spotlight

As soon as I got my lunch, I left the cafeteria, weaving through the noise and chatter in search of a small, forgotten space—somewhere far from wandering eyes. Somewhere bullies, jocks, or anyone who thought boredom justified cruelty wouldn’t bother to look.

We’re in college, yet those things still exist.

Yes—pathetic. I know.

I headed toward my usual refuge near the parking lot, tucked far enough away that most people didn’t even realize it was there. Hidden behind a rusted fence and overgrown weeds stood an abandoned chapel—cracked stone walls, shattered stained glass, and a bell tower that hadn’t rung in decades. No one dared to enter it. Not even the perimeter that surrounded it felt safe enough for most students.

There were countless stories about the place. Some claimed the chapel had burned down years ago because it was actually a cult headquarters, run by a powerful witch who practiced dark rituals beneath the altar. Others said students who went inside never came back the same—if they came back at all.

All ridiculous, obviously. Just another made-up tale meant to scare freshmen.

Still, no one went near it.

Our university is the oldest in the entire state. It’s famous—not for academic excellence or championship trophies, but for its ghost stories. Haunted dormitories, cursed libraries, staircases where footsteps echoed with no one in sight. Ironically, only the children of the elite enrolled here. Heirs and heiresses wandering halls supposedly filled with spirits, pretending they weren’t afraid of the dark.

I ate my lunch quietly, seated on a broken stone bench near the chapel’s edge. The silence there felt heavy but comforting, like the world had paused just long enough to let me breathe. No laughter directed at my expense. No shoulders slamming into mine “by accident.” Just the distant hum of cars and the rustle of leaves.

I’m in my third year, taking up Economics.

Yeah—sounds pretty nerdy.

It was the only course that genuinely interested me when my parents insisted I choose something related to business. Numbers made sense. Systems did too. Unlike people, they followed rules. Predictable. Honest.

When I finished eating, I brushed crumbs from my skirt and headed back to class. The peace didn’t last long.

As soon as I merged into the main pathway, reality returned. A shoulder slammed into mine from the left. Someone laughed behind me. Another shove followed, harder this time, nearly knocking my books from my arms. I muttered apologies even though none were owed, eyes fixed on the pavement.

By the time I reached the building, I’d lost count of how many times I’d been pushed aside—like I was invisible. Or worse, an inconvenience.

I straightened my posture anyway.

Because if there’s one thing I’d learned at this university, it was this:

Surviving meant learning how to walk forward, even when the world kept trying to knock you down.

I’m small—painfully so—and cursed with glasses far too big for my face. They only seem to emphasize what I already know: that my face is nothing special. Not pretty. Not striking. Just… there. An unfortunate combination, really.

I barely had time to react before someone clipped my shoulder hard enough to send me stumbling. I grunted as I hit the floor, the impact jarring my bones. My books slid across the hallway, pages fluttering open, and my iPad skidded farther away, stopping near someone else’s shoes.

Of course, no one stopped.

No one apologized.

Instead, laughter echoed around me—sharp, careless, cruel. It rang in my ears as if the hallway itself was mocking me. I stayed where I was for a second too long, heat creeping up my neck, my throat tightening as I fought the sting behind my eyes.

I pushed myself up onto my knees and began gathering my things one by one, hands trembling slightly. My eyes stayed glued to the floor. If I didn’t look up, maybe they wouldn’t exist. Maybe this moment wouldn’t either.

Then—

a pair of hands entered my field of vision.

They were steady. Unhurried. Different.

The laughter died instantly.

The sudden silence was louder than the noise before it, and my breath hitched as I followed the hands upward. My heart sank straight to my stomach when I realized who it was.

Mr. Kingsley.

My professor.

And—unfortunately—my fiancé.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern as he helped me to my feet.

The warmth of his hand lingered longer than it should have, steady and grounding in a way that made my throat tighten. The moment I was standing, I pulled away and dropped my gaze, staring at the tiled floor like it might swallow me whole.

I could feel them now.

The stares—dozens of them—boring into my skin, heavy and relentless. Whispers rippled through the hallway like a disease, spreading fast, mutating with every step. I didn’t have to look up to know what they were thinking. Suspicious eyes darted between us, lingering just a second too long. Curiosity sharpened into judgment. Judgment twisted into speculation.

Why was he touching her?

Why did he help her?

Since when does Mr. Kingsley notice girls like that?

My chest began to heat up, breath coming shallow as panic curled tight around my ribs. This—this—was what I hated most. Being noticed. Being seen. Being dragged into a spotlight I never asked for, never wanted. Especially like this. Especially with him standing so close, his presence alone enough to turn a simple accident into a scandal waiting to happen.

I pressed my lips together, forcing myself not to shake. I wanted to disappear. To fade back into the background where I belonged—where no one cared enough to look twice.

But he didn’t move away.

If anything, he shifted just slightly, as if positioning himself between me and the crowd. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, but it made my heart stumble. His shadow fell over me, blocking a few of the prying eyes, and for a brief, confusing moment, the noise dulled.

That only made it worse.

Because I didn’t need his protection.

And yet, a traitorous part of me clung to it anyway.

I reached for my books and took them from his hands quickly, mumbling something that might have been a thank-you—or maybe just an apology. I didn’t wait for him to say anything else.