The parking lot incident
1221 Words
Olivia’s POV
———
Monday mornings should be illegal.
There’s something particularly cruel about waking up early after spending an entire Sunday afternoon working back-to-back, and the night convincing yourself you’ll start the week fresh, disciplined, motivated—only to immediately hit the snooze button three times.
By the time I pull into the university parking lot, it’s already 7:40, which is late for me.
Just perfect.
The lot is fuller than usual, which makes absolutely no sense because it’s barely eight in the morning. Students circle the lanes like desperate vultures looking for the last remaining spaces.
Except I already have a space.
My space.
Well… not officially. The university doesn’t assign parking spaces to students, but after two years on this campus, everyone develops an unspoken system.
You park in the same place every day.
People learn it.
They respect it.
Or at least they’re supposed to.
I turn the corner toward the row where I usually park and immediately slam my foot on the brake.
Someone is clearly about to park there.
Someone just took my space.
My space is taken.
A black car sits there like it owns the place.
I stare at it in disbelief.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I say loudly.
The car is sleek. Expensive. Annoyingly polished.
Definitely not the kind of vehicle usually parked in the student section.
I pull my car up behind it and cut the engine, irritation bubbling up immediately. I glance at the time on my dashboard.
Fifteen minutes before class.
Fantastic.
I grab my bag and step out of the car, marching toward the driver’s side of the black vehicle with the righteous determination of someone who woke up too early and hasn’t had coffee yet.
I know the car is beautiful and all, and mine isn’t even the latest version of a Honda Civic, but this is unacceptable.
The door opens just as I reach it and tap twice on the window.
And someone steps out.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Pressed shirt.
I don’t even immediately process who it is because I’m already halfway into my argument.
“Excuse me, but there’s an unwritten rule around here, and one of them happens to say that this is my parking pla—”
The words die instantly in my throat.
Oh.
Oh no.
Dr. Dante Nethans stands in front of me, holding his car keys, looking exactly as composed and intimidating as he did in class last week.
My brain shuts down.
Completely.
I feel the blood rush to my face so fast it’s almost violent.
Mortification is too small a word for what I’m experiencing. I just wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole at this very instant.
“Professor—” I blurt out immediately. “I—sorry—this is—I thought—”
Brilliant sentence structure, Olivia.
Truly impressive.
His expression doesn’t change much, but one eyebrow lifts slightly as he studies me.
“I… thought someone else parked here. I didn’t know it was you,” I finish weakly.
Smooth.
Very smooth.
He glances briefly at the full parking lot around us, then back at me.
“So this spot was assigned to you?”
It’s a simple question, yet I take a moment to answer because his voice catches me off guard. It’s deep and rich, with a refined accent I can’t quite place.
“I—well—not officially,” I say quickly, waving my hands slightly in panic. “It’s just kind of… unofficially mine.”
Why am I still talking?
Stop talking.
Stop talking right now.
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he closes his car door.
“You should hurry,” he says calmly.
He checks his watch and then looks back at me.
“Class begins in… eleven minutes.”
And just like that, he walks past me toward the academic building as if the parking lot confrontation never happened.
I stand there for two full seconds.
Then I whisper to myself, “I hate Mondays.”
⸻
By the time I reach the lecture hall, I’m sweating, completely out of breath, and my humiliation has only grown.
Lily is already sitting in our usual spot.
“You look like you just witnessed a crime,” she says as I drop into the seat beside her.
“I did worse,” I mutter.
“What happened?”
“I just kind of fought with the lecturer.”
Her eyes widen instantly.
“You what?”
“Parking lot,” I whisper miserably. “I thought he stole my parking spot.”
She presses a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
“This is not funny,” I say.
“Oh, it’s a little funny.”
The door opens before I can defend my dignity.
Dr. Nethans walks in.
Immediately the room falls silent.
I suddenly find the desk in front of me extremely interesting.
Maybe if I avoid eye contact long enough, he’ll forget my existence entirely.
Wishful thinking.
The lecture begins without any acknowledgment of the parking lot disaster. He writes the topic on the board: Fundamental Theorem of Calculus.
Then he begins solving equations across the board with the same calm precision as last week, explaining limits and derivatives like he’s discussing something obvious.
I try to focus.
Really, I do.
But every time he moves across the room I’m painfully aware of the fact that less than an hour ago I almost yelled at him about a parking space.
Mortifying.
About an hour into the lecture, the door opens.
A student slips inside quietly and begins walking toward an empty seat.
Dr. Nethans stops writing.
The chalk pauses mid-equation.
Slowly, he turns around.
“You’re late.”
The student freezes.
“I—sorry, sir.”
Dr. Nethans studies him for a moment.
Then he points toward the door.
“You can leave.”
The entire class goes silent.
“Sir?” the student says nervously.
“My class begins at 8:00,” Dr. Nethans says calmly. “Not 9:10. Not even 8:01.”
“But—”
“If you cannot arrive on time,” he continues evenly, “you cannot attend.”
The student hesitates.
Big mistake.
Dr. Nethans’ gaze sweeps across the entire room.
“This is a general warning. No one enters after me, no matter what your excuse is.”
No one moves.
No one even breathes too loudly.
The late student quietly walks back out.
The door closes.
Dr. Nethans turns back to the board like nothing unusual happened and continues solving the equation.
The lecture resumes.
And suddenly I understand why people say he’s terrifying.
⸻
Classes finally end at noon.
I don’t know what the administration was thinking when they gave us four hours of calculus on a Monday morning with only a thirty-minute break.
People start filing out of the classroom, and Lily is already demanding a full explanation of my parking lot disaster.
Just as we’re about to step out—
Dr. Nethans speaks.
“Miss. You. Stay back.”
My heart stops.
Lily slowly turns toward me with wide eyes.
And it’s at that exact moment that I realize something.
I’m done.
Completely done.
- Writer
