The room feels heavier after he leaves.
Everyone’s voices blur together like static. I’m still sitting there, pretending to take notes, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
My pen slides off the desk.
It hits the floor with a soft clack that sounds way too loud, and a few people glance over before going back to their screens. I lean down to grab it, my hair falling forward, and all I can smell is him. His scent. His cologne. That faint mix of clean and danger that’s already burned into my head.
I swallow hard. My throat is dry.
The seat next to me is empty now, but it feels like he’s still there that heat, that stare. It’s like he never really left.
The professor keeps talking, words I can’t follow. Every slide looks the same.
All I can see is what happened. His hand. The way he said my
