Loving Professor Gill

Chapter 8.

The days that followed felt slower than usual, thick, heavy, and unwilling to move. Anna told herself she was fine, that time would smooth out the ache that Ryan had left behind, but even she didn’t fully believe it. She had always been the kind of woman who stood her ground, who didn’t lose herself in someone else’s mess. But Ryan wasn’t just someone else.

He was that one person who had quietly slipped through her defences.

The apartment felt too quiet without him. She filled her mornings with noisy music, cleaning, and even rearranging the bookshelf three times just to avoid the silence. She cooked meals she barely touched, wiped spotless counters, and folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Anything to keep her hands busy while her mind wandered to the way Ryan used to lean against the doorway and watch her work, half-smiling like she was the calm to his storm.

Now, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever been that to him.

The first text from Brenda came three days later.

It popped up on Anna’s phone just as she was sipping her tea, the steam fogging her glasses.

Hey, Anna. Hope you’re holding up. Ryan dropped by earlier. He looked so drained. Said he’s been having trouble sleeping.

Anna stared at the message for a long time before locking her phone. She didn’t respond.

But something in her chest tightened.

Brenda hadn’t mentioned what they had talked about, or why Ryan had gone to her. But the message had just enough warmth, just enough concern to sting.

By the third message that week, Anna started recognising the pattern.

He told me he misses how easy things used to be between you two. I told him time heals everything.

He said you haven’t replied to his texts. You should. He looked really sad.

Anna deleted the messages without replying, but they lingered like smoke, invisible yet choking.

She told herself she wouldn’t fall for Brenda’s mind games again, that she wouldn’t let anyone rewrite her story. Still, every word Brenda sent carried a hidden meaning, like a whisper crawling into her thoughts when she least expected it.

That Friday, Brenda showed up at her doorstep.

She came holding a small box of pastries, her smile too polished to be genuine.

“Hey, stranger,” Brenda said lightly, stepping inside before Anna could even answer. “I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d check on you”

Anna hesitated but let her in. It felt easier than making a scene. “I'm well, Brenda, you don't have to keep coming over to check on me,” she said simply, wiping her hands on a towel.

Brenda looked around, her eyes scanning the living room like she was searching for ghosts. “You’ve done a great job keeping yourself occupied,” she said, sitting down on the couch. “I don’t know if I could handle it as gracefully as you.”

Anna smiled thinly. “You’d be surprised what you can handle when you have no choice.”

Brenda’s eyes softened, but there was something sharp behind them. “Ryan says the same thing, you know. He’s been struggling too. Sometimes he talks about you, like he’s trying to make sense of what happened.”

Anna froze, keeping her voice even. “You two seem to talk a lot.”

“Well,” Brenda laughed softly, brushing her hair back, “Someone has to keep him grounded. He’s not good at being alone.”

Anna didn’t reply. She could feel her pulse in her throat. Brenda spoke as if Ryan still confided in her, as if she still had a claim on him.

The visit lasted twenty minutes, though it felt longer. When Brenda finally stood to leave, she gave Anna a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time in a long while, Anna let her mask drop. She leaned against the counter, breathing hard. Her hands were trembling.

She wanted to scream, to tear down every reminder of Ryan in her apartment, but she didn’t.

She straightened her shoulders instead. I’m not that woman, she told herself. I don’t fall apart because someone else wants me to.

But that night, the strength she carried during the day began to slip.

In her sleep, Ryan came to her in fragments, his voice, his scent, his hands brushing against her skin. She dreamt of the way he used to look at her, the quiet intensity that always made her forget where she was. In the dream, they stood in the rain, and he whispered her name. She could almost feel his breath against her neck.

When she woke up, her pillow was damp, though she didn’t remember crying. The details faded as soon as her eyes opened, leaving behind only the ache.

**********************

The following week came with an uneasy stillness. The kind that creeps into your chest and sits there quietly, waiting for the next blow. Anna tried to convince herself she was over it, that Ryan’s silence didn’t matter anymore, but the truth was heavier than pride.

Every sound, every buzz from her phone pulled her back into the same loop: hope, doubt, disappointment.

That Monday morning, she finally decided to text him first.

She wrote and deleted her message three times before finally sending a simple:

“Hope you’re doing okay.”

No reply.

By evening, her phone buzzed not from Ryan, but from Brenda.

Ryan came by again today. He’s trying so hard, Anna. Maybe he just doesn’t know how to fix what’s broken.

Anna’s stomach twisted. She threw her phone aside and tried to focus on dinner. The stew simmering on the stove filled the apartment with warmth, but it didn’t reach her heart. Every word from Brenda was a seed of poison planted carefully, and Anna was tired of feeling like she was the one losing control.

That night, she wrote in her journal something she hadn’t done in years.

I am not the girl who waits. I am not the girl who doubts her worth because someone else forgot it. But why does it still hurt this much?

The next morning, she woke up determined to move on. She made coffee, opened the windows, and let the sunlight in. It almost felt like peace.

Until lunchtime.

She received a message from an unknown number. It was a picture, nothing special at first glance, just a street corner café downtown. But there, sitting by the window, were Ryan and Brenda. They looked deep in conversation. Brenda was smiling, her hand resting just a little too close to his.

Anna’s chest tightened. The cup in her hand trembled, and she set it down before it shattered.

For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe.

She told herself there could be an explanation. Maybe they ran into each other. Maybe it was work. Maybe

But deep down, she knew. Or at least, she felt it. The kind of feeling that doesn’t need proof because it’s already been proven a thousand times before.

That evening, she walked aimlessly through the park, the cold air biting at her cheeks. The city was alive, couples laughing, kids running, strangers moving on with their lives, and she felt small in the middle of it all. She wanted to cry, but her pride held the tears back.

He owed me honesty, she thought bitterly. Not explanations. Just truth.

When she finally returned home, the world outside had gone quiet. The night air carried a soft drizzle, the kind that made everything blur just enough to hide behind it. She changed into her pyjamas, made some tea, and sat by the window, staring into the dim streetlight glow.

Her phone buzzed on the table.

For a moment, she thought maybe it was Ryan.

It wasn’t.

He didn’t want me to stay over, but I couldn’t leave him alone like that.

Anna’s breath caught. The words blinked on her screen, cruel and deliberate. She gripped the phone tighter, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

A second message followed, the three dots flashing before it appeared.

Funny how history repeats itself, huh?

Anna stared at the words, her pulse quickening, her mind spinning. History?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she didn’t type back. Her throat felt dry, her body still. Every thought tangled with a thousand questions she didn’t want the answers to.

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, soft but menacing.

She locked her phone, set it face down, and leaned back against the couch, eyes burning with tears she refused to shed.

If Brenda’s message was meant to break her, it wouldn’t, not completely. She was stronger than that. But it did something else. It lit a quiet fire in her chest, a need to know what Brenda meant, what truth she was holding over Ryan’s head.

The night dragged on, thick with rain and silence.

Anna lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts circling endlessly. The ache in her chest had changed; it wasn’t just heartbreak anymore. It was curiosity. Anger. The painful pull of something unfinished.