Lecture Me, Please

The First Lecture

Olivia’s POV

________

I failed another course.

Failed.

Again.

The campus buzzed with the familiar chaos of the first day of a new semester, but I drifted for a moment, lost in my thoughts. Vendors shouted over each other near the cafeteria. Somewhere nearby, a group of freshmen laughed too loudly at something that probably wasn’t even funny. Friends caught each other up on everything that happened during the break. Couples reunited.

A lot was happening. Meanwhile, my life was quietly falling apart.

I sighed and locked my screen.

At this point, I felt cursed. I had somehow managed to fail one course every semester since I began college. Which was embarrassing, because I wasn’t stupid.

At least… I didn’t think I was.

I used to be the girl teachers pointed to when they needed an example of discipline and brilliance.

Now I was barely holding my degree together with last-minute reading and pure luck. Not because I couldn’t understand the material—but because I didn’t care enough until it was almost too late. I studied two nights before exams. Sometimes the night before.

For someone who feared failure more than a bad marriage, my lack of motivation made no sense at times. But it wasn’t entirely my fault. After some research, I realized I had atychiphobia—an intense, irrational fear of failure that pushes people to avoid challenges, procrastinate, and sometimes spiral into anxiety or depression.

Every semester, I promised myself things would change—that I’d start earlier, that I’d become disciplined and finally become the serious student my parents already believed I was. But motivation had always felt like something that belonged to other people. People who knew exactly why they were here.

I was here because my parents wanted it.

A degree first, they said. Passion later.

And I loved them enough to obey. I also felt I owed them my life for everything they sacrificed to raise me—especially since I wasn’t a planned child. At least, that’s what my older sisters made me believe.

So here I was.

My mother still told anyone who cared to listen that I was one of the brightest students in my department. If she ever saw my transcript, she might faint.

But I’d fix it.

Eventually.

It was the first day of my third year—my fifth semester—and I already dreaded the months ahead. I couldn’t even say I can’t afford to fail this semester anymore, because that was what I always said.

And yet, here we were.

I reached the door of Lecture Hall B just as a small crowd of students began filing inside. Someone behind me complained loudly about the cold while another guy argued with his friend about last night’s football results.

Normal university life.

Except today, my chest felt heavier than usual.

I glanced at the course title on the notice board beside the door.

MTH 307 — Advanced Calculus Great.

Math had never been my enemy, but calculus had always felt like a language I almost understood—but not quite. The kind of subject that punished procrastination.

Which meant it punished me.

I stepped into the lecture hall and headed straight for the middle rows. Not too close to the front, where lecturers noticed you. Not too far back, where the noise-makers gathered.

The safe zone.

My friend Lily waved when she saw me and shifted her bag so I could sit. More students flooded in—some familiar faces, some new. The air filled with perfume, sweat, and that faint chalky smell that seemed permanently trapped in every classroom.

We barely started catching up before the lecturer walked in.

I checked my watch.

Exactly 8 a.m.

Amazed didn’t even begin to cover it. I would have bet money the lecture would start late today.

I was wrong.

The noise died instantly.

Lecturers had that effect.

But this one, more than most.

He walked in without looking at anyone. Tall. Controlled. Every movement precise in a way that made the entire hall fall quiet without being told.

I did a double take. His frame was lean rather than overly broad, but defined in a way that made the strength in him impossible to miss. His shirt molded to his body just enough to hint at the biceps beneath, the sleeves slightly folded at his forearms, revealing strong, muscled hands that carried a quiet authority.

His hair was styled in a clean scissor cut, neat but not rigid, giving him an effortlessly composed look. Russet-brown eyes—sharp and observant—sat beneath thick, long lashes that softened nothing about him, only made his gaze more arresting. There was a precision to everything about him, from the way he stood to the way he moved, as though even stillness required intention.

He was beautiful.

So beautiful I could have him decorate my kitchen.

And if you knew me at all, you’d understand how serious that was—because nothing unimportant or bland ever made it into my kitchen.

He introduced himself.

Dr. Dante Nethans.

I had heard the name before, even though this was my first time seeing him. Everyone knew who he was. PhD holder. Youngest professor ever hired by the university. Younger than I had expected too.

Also rumored to be the most terrifying.

The universe really had a sense of humor.

Now not only did I have to work harder, but my lecturer was also a ridiculously fine man who apparently scared everyone.

“Welcome to Advanced Calculus.”

“This course,” he continued, writing CALCULUS on the board in a clean, precise handwriting, “is not difficult.”

He paused.

“It is merely unforgiving. If you study consistently, you will pass.”

Another pause.

“If you study the night before exams…”

He turned to face us fully.

“You will fail.”

Lily slowly turned her head toward me.

I gave her a sad smile.

Dr. Nethans continued, outlining the course structure, assignments, and expectations.

Since it was the first class, he refreshed our understanding of differentiation and integration after going through the course outline.

By the time the lecture ended, the board was filled with equations, and my notebook contained every example he solved.

Progress.

Students began packing their bags, the room filling with chatter again.

“Okay,” Lily said, standing. “That man is going to destroy people this semester.”

I closed my notebook slowly. She wasn’t wrong.

At the front, Dr. Nethans gathered his files with the same quiet precision he had walked in with.

For a brief moment, his gaze swept across the hall.

Then it paused.

On me.

Our eyes met.

And for a second, my ovaries melted.

Then he turned and walked out.

Lecture over.

New semester officially begun.

And I had a strange feeling that Advanced Calculus was about to become a much bigger problem than just another course.