Loving Professor Gill

Chapter 10.

Anna spent the entire bus ride rehearsing what she would say, calm, steady words that wouldn’t shake, wouldn’t accuse, wouldn’t fall apart. She promised herself she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t look desperate. She only wanted clarity. Peace. Something she could hold on to before doubt finally finished eating her alive. Her fingers stayed clenched on her lap as evening lights smeared across the bus window, headlights like tired stars, people rushing through life while she felt trapped in a moment that refused to move.

When the bus finally stopped near Ryan’s building, she stepped off with a shaky breath. The evening air brushed her cheeks, cool and almost gentle, like a warning. Everything around her felt normal: horns, footsteps, the soft hum of the city, yet inside her chest, everything shook. She walked toward Ryan’s gate slowly, heart pounding hard enough to echo inside her ears. I just want to understand. I want to trust you, but I’m scared. Please don’t let me feel foolish for loving you. She repeated the sentence in her mind, holding onto it like a lifeline.

She almost turned back three times, and then she saw them.

Ryan stood at the building entrance, posture tense, expression tired and unsure. And beside him, Brenda. Perfect hair, soft smile, the kind of elegance that always looked rehearsed. She seemed too prepared. Too placed. Anna froze. For a heartbeat, she tried to believe they were just talking, two people catching up, nothing more. Brenda's without hesitation, slid her fingers between Ryan’s and held his hand as though it belonged there. The world fell out from under Anna’s feet.

Ryan tensed, startled, uncomfortable, but Anna didn’t wait to see anything else. Her throat closed, panic clawing through her chest, and she turned away, stumbling, running without knowing she had started. Street lights blurred through tears, each one smearing her reality further. Her heart hammered violently, and humiliation burned through her like fire. Why was this happening? What did she do wrong?

Back at the doorway she had abandoned, Ryan immediately pulled his hand back.

“Brenda, stop,” he muttered, irritated. “Don’t do that.”

She tilted her head innocently. “Oh? I thought… we used to—”

“No.” His voice was strained. “I don’t want misunderstandings.”

But Anna was already gone.

Brenda’s smile returned small, victorious, poisonous.

Anna collapsed onto the bench near the bus stop, chest heaving, fingers trembling as she covered her mouth to muffle her sobs. She had come here to understand. To fix things. To hold on. Instead, she had walked directly into heartbreak sharp enough to tear hope apart in one breath.

Her phone buzzed.

She blinked through tears to read the message.

“His hand always felt warm like that. Some habits don’t fade easily, do they?”

Her vision blurred again as another text arrived.

“He said he needed company tonight. I didn’t want to leave him alone. I know you’d want him cared for.”

Anna’s heart twisted painfully.

Then the final blow, sweet, soft, and cruel:

“He didn’t ask me to stay over… but sometimes the night decides for us, doesn’t it? Old memories are hard to resist.”

Her breath broke. She pressed her palm over her mouth, trying not to scream. People laughed and walked around her, living their lives while hers cracked open under the weight of doubt.

Was she losing him? Was she foolish to hope? Was she just a temporary chapter in someone else’s story?

“I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have seen that…”

Anna’s grip loosened, her phone nearly slipping. Somewhere in the darkness, doubt finally transformed into heartbreak. The approaching bus hissed to a stop, and she sat frozen, unsure whether she should go home or whether she even had one anymore.

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

Ryan had been exhausted long before the evening settled over Nairobi, but the moment Brenda grabbed his hand, sliding her fingers between his like she had every right to touch him, a different kind of fatigue struck, the kind that came from a place deeper than bone. Something uneasy, something wrong. He pulled his hand back instantly, jaw tight. “Brenda, don’t,” he murmured, weary annoyance cutting through his tone. She only offered a soft, practised smile, the kind that suggested innocence, though it felt anything but.

“You looked tired,” she said lightly, voice dipped in silk. “I thought you needed company.” “I don’t,” he said simply. His patience was thin that day; his heart had been restless for days, his mind drifting back to Anna again and again. He didn’t want confusion. He didn’t want noise. Not tonight. Not now. Brenda tilted her head gracefully, curated and said, “We used to lean on each other, remember?” “We’re not there anymore,” Ryan replied, voice steady, final. “Goodnight, Brenda.” He didn’t wait for her reaction; he turned and walked toward the building, shoulders heavy, heart tugging in that same direction it always did lately toward a girl who made the world feel like it had air again: Anna.

He didn’t know she was there. He didn’t know she had seen everything. He didn’t know her heart had just shattered three meters behind him. He only knew he felt wrong and uneasy, like something important was slipping through his fingers and he hadn’t yet realised he’d already lost it. Upstairs in his penthouse, silence greeted him, a silence usually comforting, now suffocating. He tossed his keys on the counter and dragged a hand through his hair, breathing out through his nose, and wondered what that feeling in his chest was: a tightening, a pull, a storm forming without warning. Why did it feel like he needed to move, like something terrible had already happened and he was just late to notice?

He paced. His thoughts kept circling back to Anna, her eyes, soft but stubborn, hopeful but guarded; the way her voice trembled when she talked about fear disguised as strength; the way she made him feel seen without demanding anything from him. He swallowed. He had meant to call her tonight, to talk, to explain, to maybe, finally stop being a coward about what she meant to him. And yet, instead of peace, he felt panic building slowly and quietly under his ribs. He pulled out his phone. No messages from her. He checked again. Still nothing. A strange pressure tightened in his chest; he tried to breathe it away and failed.

Meanwhile, down the road, Anna sat trembling on a bus stop bench, tears cooling on her cheeks, phone heavy with the venom Brenda had delivered. Ryan didn’t see it, he didn’t hear the way her world cracked apart, but somehow he felt it. He picked up his keys again; he didn’t know why, but he needed to see her, to check on her, to make sure she was okay. The urge hit like instinct, primal and consuming, and he stepped back into the elevator with his chest tight. When he reached her apartment complex and knocked on her door, the hallway lights flickered once, buzzing gently, and the corridor felt wrong: too quiet, too empty. He knocked again, harder. Nothing. He tried calling her; it rang once, then went dead. A cold rush slid down his spine. He knocked again, louder this time, and still there was silence. Then a neighbour cracked open their door. “You’re looking for the girl who lived there?” “Yes.” “She moved out two days ago.”