Unnecessary distractions
930 Words
Dante’s POV
—
As I watch my students leave, my attention settles on the one student who has managed to capture my interest—the same one from the morning. She is about to leave with her friend when I stop her.
Something I have never done unless it is strictly for academic reasons.
“Miss. You—stay back.”
I say it loud and clear, enough for her to understand that she is the one I’m addressing.
Her friend glances at her in sympathy before leaving. The door closes behind the last student, and soon the lecture hall is empty.
Now it’s just the two of us.
From where I stand, I can see her hands trembling slightly. She’s convinced I’m about to punish her for what happened this morning.
In truth, what she did isn’t even punishable. She didn’t know it was me, and she wasn’t rude—not really.
Still, I let her worry.
It’s interesting to observe.
“What are your names?”
She visibly swallows.
Since attendance is done digitally, lecturers don’t immediately know their students unless they check the register or conduct a roll call. By asking for her name, I’ve confirmed her fear.
She thinks I’m going to penalize her marks.
I really don’t know why I’m doing all this when I could find her name in less than a minute if I opened the register.
And yet, I ask anyway.
“Sir, I’m so sorry about this morning. It was a mistake, and I would do anything to make up for it.”
Anything.
Such a powerful word.
She continues, nervously explaining herself and begging me not to subtract marks she hasn’t even earned yet.
“Your names,” I repeat calmly.
Finally, she gives them to me.
Then she leaves the classroom quietly, defeated, pausing only to say she hopes I have a nice day ahead.
—
I search for her that evening.
Not an obsessive search.
But a search nonetheless.
It turns out to be very easy.
Her face is everywhere.
She’s sort of an influencer—over one hundred thousand followers on her personal page and a business page with almost a million followers, though it hasn’t been verified yet.
Her business bio reads:
Artist | Ghost.
When I scroll through her content using one of my untraceable accounts, I quickly learn what that means.
She’s a beauty artist. She braids hair. She does makeup, nails, lashes, brows—everything.
And a food artist. A caterer.
She crochets too.
The “ghost” part turns out to mean ghostwriter, something I only learn after watching several videos.
The girl is talented.
And independent.
She runs a small beauty salon out of her garage. There’s also a small dining space where customers can come to eat her grilled fish—which, according to the comments section, is the best in town.
She’s successful.
More successful than most students her age.
When I feel like I understand her business well enough, I move to her main page.
Lifestyle content.
Brand reviews.
Businesses sending her PR packages.
Influence.
Visibility.
Attention.
I scroll longer than I intended to.
Curiosity is a dangerous thing.
By the time I stop, it’s already one in the morning.
And I realize I’ve accomplished absolutely nothing productive tonight.
I sigh and prepare for bed.
—
I attend seminars for one reason.
Efficiency.
They condense information into a few hours that would otherwise require weeks of scattered reading. Data, research, projections—delivered quickly by people who have spent years gathering it.
Today’s topic is E-agriculture.
Not my field.
But the intersection between technology, data infrastructure, and agriculture has expanded aggressively over the last decade. Cloud security is becoming increasingly relevant to it.
Which makes the seminar worth attending.
The conference hall is located downtown, far from the university.
Neutral ground.
Quiet.
Professional.
Exactly the kind of place where nothing unexpected should happen.
I arrive early, as usual.
Punctuality is not discipline.
It is respect for time.
The room is already half full with researchers, investors, government representatives, academics. Conversations blend together in low, controlled tones.
The kind of environment where people pretend they are not evaluating everyone else in the room.
I take a seat along the side row, placing my phone and notebook on the table in front of me.
A speaker walks onto the stage and begins discussing digital monitoring systems for crop production.
Interesting.
I listen.
Ten minutes pass.
Then twenty.
Then something shifts in the room.
Not dramatically.
Just movement.
Someone entering late.
My eyes move toward the entrance out of instinct.
And stop.
Unexpected variables rarely announce themselves politely.
They simply appear.
She walks into the hall like she doesn’t realize she has disrupted the entire visual balance of the room.
The same girl from my calculus class.
The one from the parking lot.
The one who argued with me over a parking space five minutes before my lecture last Monday.
Olivia.
She pauses briefly near the door, scanning the room for an empty seat.
Today she isn’t dressed like a university student.
She’s wearing a long white gown—simple, elegant, the kind that moves easily when she walks. The fabric follows the natural lines of her body without trying too hard.
Not dramatic.
Just, effective.
It reveals enough to suggest beautiful curves without announcing them.
Professional.
But distracting.
Which is unfortunate.
Because I rarely get distracted.
And it’s at that exact moment that I realize something. I’m in trouble. Big time trouble. And that Olivia will be my ultimate downfall.
- Writer
