Her Favourite Distraction

First Impressions

Monday arrived faster than I expected. It felt like the party night had just happened yesterday, and now I was clutching my tote bag, my class schedule folded neatly inside, trying to find my first lecture hall.

Students streamed through the hallways, some clearly lost, others chatting casually with friends. The corridors buzzed with voices and the shuffle of countless footsteps.

I finally approached a girl standing by the lockers.

“Hey, do you know where the philosophy lecture hall is?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said casually, pointing down the hall. “Just go that way.”

“Thanks.”

Following her directions, I eventually found the lecture hall. I paused at the door, took a slow breath, and pushed it open.

The room was bigger than I’d imagined. Rows of desks stretched farther back than I could see, filled with students already seated — some whispering, some scribbling notes, others scrolling through their phones.

I hugged my bag closer and slipped into an empty seat at the front, trying not to draw attention. I pulled out my notebook and pen, preparing for the lecture.

Two girls behind me were whispering, and their conversation floated to my ears.

“Did you hear about the lecturer?” one whispered.

“Yeah, I heard he’s new and a guest lecturer,” her friend replied.

“That’s him. I also heard he’s cute and rich… I’m so excited to meet him.”

They giggled.

I rolled my eyes quietly. Rich and hot, huh? Well, I’d see soon enough.

I tried to focus on my notes, organizing my things, when the door opened.

He walked in calmly, every movement deliberate, radiating quiet confidence. The room seemed to hush slightly as eyes turned toward him.

He didn’t fumble with papers or rush to the front like most lecturers. He strode to his desk, placed his bag down, and looked around the room. That single glance made it feel like everyone had been noticed.

Rumors might actually be true. He really was attractive.

“My name is Adrian Vale,” he said, writing neatly on the board. “I’ll be your guest lecturer this semester.”

His voice was steady, controlled, carrying easily. My pen hovered above my notebook, but I barely wrote a word. Part of me wanted to pay attention; another part kept drifting back to him.

He didn’t just lecture — he engaged. He asked questions, paused to hear responses, and gestured naturally while speaking. Sometimes, he ran a hand through his dark hair while searching for the right word. The class seemed completely absorbed.

Once or twice, our eyes met briefly. I quickly looked away. Amanda, relax. He’s just your lecturer. A very good-looking one.

“Miss… Miss.”

His voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see every eye in the class on me.

Oh no.

“Yes, sir?” I said, standing slowly.

He walked over, stopping in front of me. Calm, yet curious, he tilted his head slightly.

“Tell me,” he said, “if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

Murmurs rippled through the class. I thought for a moment, recalling the philosophy behind perception.

“I think…” I began carefully. “It produces vibrations, so something physically happens. But without someone there to perceive it, the sound isn’t actually experienced. In a way, it exists… but only as a potential sound until someone hears it.”

A hush fell. I studied his expression. Neutral. Thoughtful. Considering.

“Interesting,” he said after a moment. “You’re thinking beyond the obvious. That’s exactly the kind of reasoning philosophy is about.”

I nodded and returned to my seat, hands slightly unsteady as I picked up my pen. This time, I focused.

The lecture continued, and I made a real effort to pay attention. Eventually, he assigned an essay and packed his notebook.

Students filed out in groups, chatter filling the room. I stayed seated, letting the crowd thin before gathering my things.

He was still at his desk, focused on his laptop. When the room was nearly empty, I started toward the door.

“Hey, Miss.”

I stopped and turned. He was looking directly at me.

“You called me, sir?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Amanda, sir.”

“Alright, Miss Amanda. That was a good answer earlier. Most students struggle with that question.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Psychology.”

He smiled faintly. “Good. Philosophy and psychology often overlap.”

He glanced back at his laptop. “You can go now.”

“Okay, sir.”

I stepped into the hallway, smiling to myself despite the flutter in my chest. His compliment lingered.

After my remaining lectures, I headed back to my room. My phone buzzed — a message from Henry:

Hey. Done with your lectures?

Meet me at the cafeteria. I promised a campus tour, remember?

I smiled. On my way.

I changed into something comfortable, grabbed my bag, and headed to the cafeteria. The campus was alive with students walking, laughing, and lounging under trees.

The cafeteria was easy to find; the smell of food and chatter led me straight inside.

“Hey!”

I turned. Henry stood waving, hair tousled as if he’d run his hands through it all day.

“Finally. I thought you got lost.”

“I almost did,” I admitted, laughing softly.

“How were your lectures?”

“Interesting.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting?”

“Yes. My philosophy lecturer is new.”

“And?”

I hesitated. “He… takes philosophy very seriously.”

Henry chuckled. “Sounds terrifying.”

“It kind of was,” I said, remembering Adrian calling on me.

“Enough about scary lecturers. Ready for the grand campus tour?”

“Lead the way.”

Outside, Henry proved an excellent guide, showing me the library, science buildings, student center, and sports complex.

“This,” he said, gesturing to a wide field, “is where most campus events happen.”

“Wow,” I said, looking around.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “First week’s confusing, but you’ll know every corner soon.”

We walked and talked about classes, professors, and embarrassing high school stories. I laughed more than I had all day.

Eventually, we reached a quiet path lined with tall trees, the late afternoon sun filtering softly through the leaves.

“So,” he said casually, slowing his pace, “how are you settling in?”

“I think I’m doing okay,” I replied.

He watched me a moment. “I’m glad you came here, Amanda.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said with a small grin, “now I have someone interesting to talk to.”

I rolled my eyes. “So everyone else here is boring?”

“Most of them.”

We both laughed. The moment stretched, quiet and different. Henry rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly nervous.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first day I met you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

He hesitated, studying my face, then stepped closer. His hand brushed mine, checking if I’d pull away. I didn’t.

“Henry…” I whispered softly.

Before I could finish, he leaned in and kissed me.

I froze, then closed my eyes. The kiss was soft, hesitant, giving me time to pull away — but I didn’t. My fingers gripped his shirt gently as the kiss deepened. The world around us faded — the quiet path, distant chatter, and warm evening air.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us slightly breathless, Henry looked surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

We stood there, smiling and embarrassed, before continuing our walk. I couldn’t stop glancing toward the philosophy building, Adrian Vale’s steady gaze lingering in my mind.

Suddenly, things felt… a lot more complicated.