Falling for the Professor

Chapter002

As Julian paced to the far side of the seminar table and leant casually against it, opening a battered paperback with a folded corner, Emma continued to look down. Neither a syllabus nor any of the assigned readings was available online. Not even his name was inscribed on the whiteboard.

There was silence in the room. There was a genuine silence, not the passive kind you hear in lectures, but the kind that stems from uncertainty. Everyone was observing him. Awaiting. The shifting of shoulders, the held breaths, and the faint rustle of notebooks being opened and then swiftly closed again were all signs Emma could sense.

When he spoke, Julian didn't raise his head from the book.

Why do most modern protagonists end up alone?" he asked in a calm, even voice.

A long silence fell.

He looked up, slowly scanning the room. His eyes were unflinching but not sharp. As if he had endless time to wait for a response and had no desire to provide one for himself.

Nobody said anything.

Julian's seatmate, Leo Valenti, cleared his throat as if he were about to say something confident and well-practiced. Julian, however, raised a hand without glancing at him.

> "It's not the response you found on Google. The one that irritates you.

There was silence again.

Emma moved around in her chair. Her heart rate had increased once more. She was aware of the tight knot in her chest and the slight shudder in her thigh. Being gawked at and expected to give an intellectual performance were things she detested. She wrote her thoughts well. She could appear bold and clear on paper. In person? She would rather not be seen.

However, the question continued to haunt her, and she detested how much it held on to her.

Why do they wind up by themselves?

She reflected on her favourite books. The Jar of Bells. The Outsider. Don't ever let me go. A Small Life. Pain that never stops circling. It always ends in the distance. The character had an internal breakdown.nness that never fully healed.

Perhaps that was the idea.

Emma raised her hand inadvertently. It took place in between her gasping for air and the excessively long silence. She raised her fingers. Abruptly, she became acutely aware that the old room was turning. in her direction.

Her eyes locked with Julian's once more.

No grin. Don't be discouraged.

Simply waiting.

She took a swallow.

> "Because," she said quietly, "they don't think they deserve to be understood."

For a momenThe words lingered in T.he air. Next, two.

Behind her, someone moved in their seat. Nobody chuckled. Nobody rushed to her aid with a more scholarly response. She desired to become smaller. She ought to have spoken more intelligently.

Julian c****d his head a little.

> "Interesting," he said.

A pause.

> "What leads you to believe that?"

Emma paused. She had a dry throat.

> "Because the characters typically don't try." I mean, to connect. They begin to live as though it's inevitable because they're so accustomed to being by themselves. Even when a connection does appear, they believe it to be transient. or hazardous. Or—" she hesitated for a moment, "—or it will weaken them."

The The silence had changed. Not one was ready toeap. Leaning in.

Slowly, Julian nodded. He opened his arms.

> "So solitude isn't punishment," he stated. "It is self-defense."

Emma blinked. He wasn't putting her to the test. He was expanding on her idea. Her chest relaxed slightly.

He turned to face the other students. "Who wants to argue with that?"

Leo jumped in this time.

"Or perhaps it's just a literary trend," he remarked. We fetishize loneliness because it gives characters a more profound appearance. Writing about trauma is more marketable than writing about happiness.

Julian gave a small smile, but it was not visible.

> "You believe that loneliness sells?"

Leo gave a nod.

> "Certainly. We remember the tragic endings more, after all. Joyful ones seem like lies.

Emma didn't trust herself to look at Julian again, so she glanced down at her notebook.

"That's one theory," Julian stated, maintaining his composure. But watch out for cynicism masquerading as analysis. It has the potential to be as performative as sentimentality.

Leo snapped.

For a brief moment, Julian turned back to face Emma.

"Miss...?"

> "Grant," she uttered softly. "Emma Grant."

After giving one nod, he returned his attention to the board. He wrote something this time:

"A lot of contemporary literature is an autopsy of connection."

> "You'll try to prove or disprove that for the next four weeks," he said. "Beginning the next lesson."

The spell was broken.

Pens scuffed. The chairs made a creaking sound. There was an excessively loud exhale.

Emma sat motionless.

She didn't know what had happened, but she could feel an electric hum beneath her skin.

---

Students stood after clasSome quickly filtered out. Leo had already struck up a conversation with the girl wearing the nose rings. Emma had no one to hide behind because Clara wasn't present at this seminar. In an attempt to fit in with the final wave, to fit in with the final wave out, she packed up slowly.

Julian stayed behind, moving slowly and deliberately to erase the whiteboard. As students went by him, he didn't raise his head. He also failed to stop Emma.

But she sensed it as she got to the door.

That distinct pause. When someone is watching you, there's a weight in the air.

She made a slight turn, just enough to look over her shoulder.

She caught Julian's attention.

Not like a predator. Not even in what appeared to be a deliberate manner.

It seemed more like he was silently observing her walk away and wondering if she would turn around.

Emma didn't.

Not just yet.

With her heart in her throat, she entered the door and allowed it to close