Chapter nine.
1112 Words
Renna's POV.
I stepped into campus with a filled head.
I should have felt peaceful or something, but instead my mind kept circling the same thought; him.
Every single sound... the shuffle of feet on the sidewalk, the distant chatter of students, it all faded under the buzz of his voice in my memory. The way he said my name. The way the world seemed to quiet whenever he looked at me.
It had been three days since I last saw him.
I hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. But his absence clung to me like static.
As I crossed the quad toward the Humanities Building, I kept replaying everything in my head, his hand on mine, the subtle scratch of his beards against my skin, the softness in his voice whenever he whispered. "Kitten."
It was ridiculous.
I barely knew him.
And yet, it felt as if I couldn’t think of anything else.
The new course I’d added to my schedule, “Contemporary Thought and Expression,” was something to balance my grades after that nightmare elective.
The lecture hall was half full when I got there.
I slipped into a seat near the middle row and dropped my bag on the table with a sigh. My brain felt heavy.
The professor wasn’t in yet, thankfully.
Maybe I’d get five minutes of quiet before I had to pretend to be normal again.
I folded my arms on the desk, rested my head, and closed my eyes. The faint hum of conversation around me blurred into background noise. My thoughts drifted, back to his apartment, the intimate moments we spent together and the way he'd handled my body, roughly, yet delicately.. and his words just before I left: "Don’t overthink it, kitten. We’ll find our moments."
I wanted to hate how much space he took up in my head. I wanted to.
A burst of laughter from the back row jolted me. I looked up briefly... still no professor. “He’s probably stuck in traffic or something.” someone said.
I smiled weakly and lowered my head again.
Minutes passed.
Then, without warning, the room began to quiet.
It wasn’t immediate; it was that slow quietness that spreads out when someone important enters a space.
I heard the door open, followed by heavy footsteps.
Something in my chest tightened.
I didn’t know why... just instinct, maybe.
Chairs creaked as people turned toward the front. The faint rustle of notebooks opening.
I lifted my head, brushing hair from my face, getting ready to dive into the business of the day.
My breath suddenly caught against my throat as my gaze landed on the professor.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling.
It was "him."
He walked straight to the desk at the front, setting down a folder, the faintest trace of his familiar cologne reaching me even from across the room. My pulse started racing.
He looked different in the light of day, his shirt was pressed, his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, expression composed. But it was undeniably him.
The man from the bench.
The man from the club.
The man from the hidden apartment.
The man who's seen my nakedness a bunch of times and I've seen his as well.
He was my professor.
I froze.
Every sound around me dulled, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
He lifted his head to scan the room, and for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked with mine.
It was deliberate.
A flicker of recognition, maybe restrained surprise flashed through his face but then he quickly straightened, calm and professional, as if nothing in the world was out of place.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said, voice smooth and familiar in a way that made my skin prickle. “My name is Cross Kirby, I’ll be taking you through Contemporary Thought and Expression this semester.”
"Cross."
So that was his name.
Hearing it out loud made it too real.
I sat perfectly still, afraid that if I moved, everyone would see the storm happening under my skin.
He continued, explaining the course outline, the grading system, the essays, the projects. I heard every word and none of them at once.
His voice rolled over the room with so much authority. I watched the way students scribbled notes, how some leaned forward in interest. To them, he was just another professor.
To me, he was the man who’d whispered my name in the dark.
When he turned to write something on the board, I caught sight of the faint line of his wristwatch peeking from his sleeve, the same watch that had brushed against my arm days ago. The same gold ring, gleaming when it caught the light, the one that haunted me.
My stomach tightened.
The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered softly against the desk.
A few heads turned; I muttered a quiet apology, picked it up, and tried to breathe.
Focus, Renna.
But it was useless. My thoughts tangled in loops: how he’d looked when I walked into that apartment, how he’d whispered the dirtiest things to my ear as he thrusted hard into me.
And now here he was, standing a few yards away, telling thirty students about abstract language and identity while pretending not to know me.
By the time he closed the folder, I felt like I’d been holding my breath for an hour.
“That’s all for today,” he said finally, glancing at the clock. “Next class, we’ll start with the first reading. I’ll send the list to your emails by tonight.”
And with that, students stretched, packed up, and moved toward the door.
I stuffed my notebook into my bag, desperate to get out before he looked my way again.
I kept my eyes down, clutching my things, my heart pounding as I slipped past the first few rows.
“Renna.”
My name cut through the noise and I almost choked.
It wasn’t loud, but it stopped me cold.
Every sound in the room blurred again.
I turned slowly.
He stood by the desk, one hand resting casually on the folder, his expression unreadable.
The last of the students filed out, laughing among themselves as they walked out.
When the door clicked shut, he cleared his throat.
“Stay back a moment.”
My mouth went dry.
The air felt too thin, too heavy.
I nodded slowly, wordless, as the last few voices faded down the hallway.
The room emptied, leaving just the both of us alone in the class.
And just like that, I knew nothing about my world was going to stay simple again.
- Writer
