Professionalism
727 Words
The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and the room filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. Everyone was already halfway out the door before the echo even faded.
I was still seated, clutching my notebook a little tighter than I should have.
“Naomi!”
I looked up. Nick was standing by the door, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, flashing that easy smile of his that could make anyone feel like they belonged.
“You coming?” he asked. “A few of us are heading to the cafeteria. I figured you might want to grab lunch before the next class.”
I smiled back, grateful for his warmth. He’d been nothing but kind to me since this morning. “Thanks, Nick. I’ll catch up in a bit, I just need to talk to the professor for a second.”
He tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “You sure? The line gets crazy fast.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said. “Save me a seat if you can.”
He grinned. “Got it. Don’t let him give you extra homework or something.”
I chuckled softly, pretending his words didn’t sting a little. If only he knew what I was actually about to talk about.
As soon as he left, the laughter and chatter faded until it was just me—and him.
Mr. Wheeler stood by the desk, stacking papers neatly, his movements calm and practiced. He looked up when I approached, offering me the kind of polite smile that belonged to a teacher, not the man I met that night.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Joshua?” His voice was smooth, steady. Too steady.
I set my books down on his desk. My hands felt cold. “Are you not going to consider what happened?”
His smile didn’t fade, but something in his eyes did. A flicker—like a light dimming behind glass.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, still using that careful tone professors use when they sense danger. “Are you talking about today’s lesson? Because if you need help with the material, I’d be happy to explain it again.”
I clenched my jaw. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
There were still a few students lingering near the doorway, so he didn’t respond. He simply nodded, pretending to sort through his bag. When the last footsteps finally disappeared, he turned and closed the door softly behind them.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“I didn’t know you’d be my professor,” I said finally. My voice was barely a whisper.
His jaw tightened. “Naomi,” he said, calm but cold. “Whatever happened between us—it was nothing. We had a few drinks. That’s all.”
I felt my stomach twist. “You call that nothing? Because from where I stand—”
“Nothing happened!”
His voice cracked through the air like a whip. The force of it made me flinch.
He dragged a hand down his face, trying to collect himself, then sank into the chair behind his desk. “Let it go,” he said quietly, not looking at me. “From now on, I am your professor. You are my student. That’s all. Do you understand?”
My throat tightened. Every part of me wanted to argue, to tell him he was lying—to me and to himself—but the words refused to come out.
“Yes, sir,” I managed to say.
He stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, and finally met my eyes. There was fear there. Regret, too. But most of all, there was something that scared me even more than anger—control.
“I’m asking you again,” he said. “Do you understand that?”
I nodded slowly. “I understand.”
He walked past me and out the door, leaving the faint scent of his cologne in the air—lemon, spice, and something I couldn’t name.
And then he was gone.
I stood there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, trying to steady the pounding in my chest. The walls suddenly felt smaller, the room colder.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop remembering that night.
- Writer
