MY PROFESSOR
1380 Words
On a Monday morning, rain drummed softly against the windows of East Bridge Academy. Eva barely noticed it. She slipped into Literature 201 and took her usual seat in the back row, opening a worn novel while waiting for the professor to arrive
The classroom door opened,
Professor Adrian Hart stepped in with a stack of books beneath his arm, the class fell silent.
He wasn't as handsome as the movie stars are talked about, his blonde hair a bit untidy and a little concern of fashion, but something about him was magnetic especially in his words as he talked as if the words were selected first.
As the bell rang and all students collected their bags running from the classroom, Eva stayed sitted in her seat, the professor hadly noticed her as all his attention was drawn to the stacked books, opening each page and smiling like someone doing their favorite hobby.
For the first time in Eva's life, she had met someone whose mind fascinated more than hers, she didn't know it yet but that moment would alter both their lives.
Over the next weeks, Eva never dared to miss a lecture, she arrived in the Literature classes early and left late after everyone.
One Thursday after the class has emptied,
Eva headed to the professor's desk,
"Professor" she called softly
"Yes" he answered
I would like to ask you about your novels, she paused!
"you read any? all students knew he was a writer but few had read his books.
"All six" she answered
His eyebrows lifted slightly
"That's impressive".
Heat crossed Eva's cheeks.
For nearly 30 minutes, they discussed introductions, characters, endings and writing techniques, that's the longest conversation she had ever had with him but when he left the room it felt too short for her.
That night in her small apartment, Eva couldn't stop thinking about that moment.
The way he explained everything so calmly.
The smile.
The questions.
The way he remembered her name.
She kept replaying every second of it all.
By the end of that semester, Eva convinced herself that nobody actually understands him more than she did.
She began spending hours in the university library researching about his interviews and articles. She learned where he had grown up, which authors inspired him, and even which cafe he visited when writing.
It felt harmless.
At first.
Because admiration has a way of disguising itself.
It arrives dressed as curiosity.
Then loyalty.
Then devotion.
And by the time it becomes obsession, it is already living inside you.
The first sign that something was wrong came on a Thursday afternoon.
Professor Hart announced that he would be holding a small writing exercise after class.
Only eight students were selected.
When Eva heard her name, excitement surged through her chest.
For six weeks, the exercise became the highlight of her life.
The students shared stories. Professor Hart offered criticism and advice. Sometimes he would stay behind after everyone else had left, discussing books and writing with whoever remained.
Eva always remained.
One evening, as golden sunlight streamed through the classroom windows, she gathered enough courage to ask a question that had lingered in her mind for months.
"Professor, where do your characters come from?"
Professor Hart smiled.
"People."
"What kind of people?"
"The ones I can't forget."
The answer stayed with her long after she returned to her apartment.
People he couldn't forget.
That night she wrote those words in her dairy and underlined them three times.
Months passed.
Their conversations became more frequent.
At least, that was how Eva remembered it.
In reality, Professor Hart treated her exactly as he treated every other student.
But obsession is a talented liar.
It takes ordinary moments and transforms them into evidence.
A smile becomes affection.
A compliment becomes admiration.
A conversation becomes intimacy.
Soon Eva was building entire fantasies from things that had never happened.
One afternoon she entered a bookstore and froze.
A large poster advertised Professor Hart's newest novel.
Readers gathered around the display, discussing the book excitedly because he was a really great writer.
Eva purchased a copy immediately.
She spent the entire night reading.
By dawn she had reached the final page.
And for the first time since meeting him, she felt disappointed.
The heroine wasn't her.
The story wasn't about her.
She had spent two years studying his words, admiring his work, understanding him better than anyone else or so she believed.
Yet she wasn't there.
Not even a trace.
The realization gnawed at her.
Days later, she visited his office.
The professor looked up from his desk.
"Eva. What can I help you with?"
Her hands trembled slightly.
"I have an idea for your next book."
Professor Hart chuckled softly.
"I appreciate that, but publishers usually prefer I come up with those myself."
"No," Eva insisted. "You don't understand."
Something in her voice made his smile fade.
She stepped closer.
"My story."
The room fell silent.
Professor Hart stared at her, confused.
"Your story?"
"Write about me."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
"Eva, I don't know your story."
"You could."
The words hung heavily between them.
Professor Hart's expression hardened.
"Eva, I think you're becoming too personally invested in this."
The sentence struck like a slap.
Too personally invested.
She had spent years believing she was special to him.
Now, in a few careless words, he had reduced her to just another student.
When she finally left his office, the autumn wind felt colder than it had all year.
And for the first time since she had met Professor Hart...
she hated him.
For weeks after their conversation, Eva avoided Professor Hart.
She stopped attending the writing workshop.
She ignored his lectures whenever possible.
Yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about him.
The humiliation replayed endlessly in her mind.
"You're becoming too personally invested in this."
The words followed her everywhere.
In the library.
In her dormitory.
Even in her dreams.
At first she told herself she was angry because he had misunderstood her.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
She was angry because he had rejected her.
Winter arrived.
The campus transformed beneath blankets of frost and snow.
Students celebrated the approaching holidays, but Eva felt detached from all of it.
Her grades slipped.
Her friends noticed her growing silence.
She spent more time alone than ever before.
And during those lonely nights, she began writing.
Page after page.
Sometimes stories.
Sometimes journal entries.
Sometimes entire conversations she wished she had with Professor Hart.
In those pages he understood her.
In those pages he admired her.
In those pages he finally realized how extraordinary she was.
Reality could never compete.
One evening, while scrolling through social media, Eva discovered photographs from a literary event in the city.
Professor Hart appeared in several of them.
Standing beside readers.
Signing books.
Smiling.
Living a life that seemed completely untouched by her absence.
The realization ignited something ugly inside her.
How could he move on so easily?
How could he forget her?
She zoomed in on every photograph.
Then she noticed a woman standing beside him in most photos.
Young.
Beautiful.
Laughing at something he had said.
Eva stared at the images for nearly an hour.
The comments identified the woman as his editor.
That should have reassured her.
Instead, it made everything worse.
By midnight, her notebook lay open on her desk.
Words spilled across the pages.
Not stories this time.
Accusations.
Questions.
Angry paragraphs she would never send.
By dawn, the notebook contained a sentence written over and over again.
Thirty-seven times.
He made me this way.
The following week, Eva made a decision.
If Professor Hart refused to write her story...
she would make herself impossible to ignore.
For the first time in months, she attended his lecture.
As she entered the classroom, his eyes briefly met hers.
A flicker of relief crossed his face.
As though he were pleased to see her return.
The sight almost made her laugh.
He still thought this could be fixed.
He still believed she was simply a troubled student.
He had no idea what was waiting for him.
And Eva intended to keep it that way.
- Writer
