Two
1563 Words
ELIAS
They always look at me like that.
Wide-eyed. Curious. Some nervous, some flirtatious. A few with the quiet desperation of students hoping for grace without effort. I’ve grown used to the stares—the way rooms fall silent when I walk in. It comes with the territory.
Young professors either command respect or invite chaos. I learned early to do the former.
But today…
Today, one pair of eyes stood out.
Hazel. Steady. Cautious, but sharp.
She didn’t just look at me—she studied me.
Most students glance away when caught. She didn’t.
Aria Morgan.
I know her name. I make it a point to learn the top students in every class. Aria has consistently ranked high in her coursework, focused, clean record, no academic misconduct, no drama. Ambitious, from what I’ve gathered. Disciplined. Possibly a perfectionist.
And, based on the way her pen danced across the page while I spoke, someone who listens deeper than most.
Not just hearing the words—absorbing them.
I admire that.
But I shouldn’t notice her the way I do.
Not the way her sweater slid off one shoulder, revealing the slope of her collarbone.
Not the way her lips parted slightly when I challenged the class about failure.
Not the faint scent of something sweet—jasmine, maybe—that lingered in the air after she passed me in the hallway earlier.
This is a boundary I’ve kept my entire career.
And I intend to keep it.
But something about her makes it harder than it should be.
---
After the lecture, I retreated to my office, a minimalist space tucked at the end of the psychology wing. Floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood desk, no personal photos. Clean. Quiet. Intentional.
I closed the door behind me and loosened the cuffs of my shirt, sitting down and pulling up the roster for Advanced Psychology.
There she was.
Morgan, Aria.
Top marks in Cognitive Psych and Human Behavior. Two peer-reviewed research assistant credits. Volunteer work at a crisis helpline.
Impressive.
Too impressive, maybe. Girls like her burn out before graduation or walk into my office in tears after the first C they’ve ever received. I’ve seen it before. Students trying to hold everything together with willpower and sleepless nights.
But something tells me Aria is different.
She has a storm behind her eyes—focused, but not fragile.
I shouldn't dwell on that.
---
A knock on my door broke my thoughts.
“Come in,” I said, straightening my spine.
My assistant, Clara, peeked in. “Your 2 PM consult canceled.”
“Noted,” I said, nodding once.
She hesitated. “Also… the Dean mentioned someone might audit your class this semester. Said he wanted to ensure you weren’t ‘scaring off the less committed students’ again.”
I let out a low breath through my nose. “The students are adults. I treat them like it.”
Clara smiled. “I told him that. He still wants a progress report by next week.”
Of course he does.
Once she left, I leaned back in my chair and let the silence settle. But my mind didn’t.
It drifted back to that girl in the middle row.
The one who didn’t break eye contact.
The one who scribbled my words like they were poetry.
Aria Morgan.
This semester will be interesting.
I just hope it doesn't turn into a mistake.
ARIA
Immediately after the class ended, I felt like I’d just stepped out of a trance.
Students were buzzing—whispers flying like wildfire.
“Oh my God, did you see his arms?”
“I couldn’t take notes. I was too busy staring.”
“Someone tell me he’s single—please.”
I tuned it out and packed up my things, trying to keep my breathing steady.
Jess nudged me. “Tell me you noticed the way he looked at the class.”
“The class?” I echoed.
She squinted at me. “Okay, maybe not the class... maybe a specific someone in the class?”
I flushed, even though I tried not to. “I think you’re reading into it.”
Jess grinned knowingly wagging her eyebrows so fast that she looks like a cartoon character.
I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t totally wrong. There was something in the way Dr. Elias Carter’s gaze had landed on me—still, focused, like he was trying to figure out what made me tick.
Not just attraction.
Curiosity.
And it rattled me more than I wanted to admit.
---
We walked out of the lecture hall, and the sun had shifted just enough to cast long shadows across campus. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and exhaled.
“Want to grab lunch before the next class?” Jess asked.
“Yeah,” I said absently, still half-lost in thought.
We walked in silence for a bit before I added, “Did you… feel something during that class?”
Jess bumped my shoulder. “You mean other than raw s****l tension thick enough to choke a room full of psych majors?”
I laughed despite myself.
But deep down, a flicker of something else stirred.
Something dangerous.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
Curiosity.
I shook it off.
It’s just a class. He’s just a professor.
A very attractive, intimidating, intelligent professor with eyes that could see through bone.
But still.
Just a professor.
Right?
We arrived at our usual café, Bean & Bloom—a cozy spot just off campus, known for its vintage lights, overwatered plants, and lattes that tasted like they were brewed by angels.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours.
The barista, Maya, recognized us instantly and greeted us with a grin. “The usual?”
Jess nodded. “Make hers extra strong. She’s already having an existential crisis, and it’s not even noon.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Accurate,” she said, flopping into one of the corner seats by the window.
I joined her, letting my bag slide to the floor as I stared out the glass. Students passed by in clusters—laughing, rushing, living like nothing was different.
But something was.
Because I felt different.
I’d sat through hundreds of lectures before, listened to dozens of professors—some great, most average. But none of them had ever made my heart skip. Or my pulse race. Or left me this… shaken.
It wasn’t just that Dr. Carter was attractive. It was the way he carried himself. Quiet authority. Controlled confidence. A sense that he knew more than he let on—and maybe more than he should.
He made me feel… seen.
And that was terrifying.
“I swear,” Jess said, stirring sugar into her drink like she was mixing a potion, “if I wasn’t so into women, I’d be writing fanfiction about him already.”
I laughed, nearly choking on my sip. “You do write fanfiction.”
“Yeah, but this would be the hetero kind. That’s how you know it’s serious.”
I shook my head, trying not to smile. But deep down, I knew she wasn’t the only one writing stories.
Because my mind had already started spinning a narrative.
One where I wasn’t a student.
One where he wasn’t a professor.
One where the rules didn’t matter and the looks we exchanged didn’t feel like landmines waiting to detonate.
I didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself.
But something had shifted in that lecture hall.
And no amount of caffeine or common sense could unshift it.
---
A few hours later, I found myself back in my dorm, sitting cross-legged on my bed with my laptop open and a Word doc titled:
Advanced Psychology: Class Notes.
Except instead of theories or terminology, I’d typed exactly five words.
“Do not think about him.”
I stared at the screen.
Then, after a beat, I added a sixth.
“Seriously.”
God help me.
---
ELIAS
Late evening.
The campus had begun to quiet, the usual buzz of undergrads fading into muted footsteps and the rustle of leaves in the wind. From my office window, the last of the sunlight spilled across the courtyard like liquid gold.
I should’ve left hours ago.
But I couldn’t shake her from my mind.
Aria.
There was something… unruly about the way she sat so still.
The way she listened like every word had weight.
The way her presence lingered even after she was gone.
I wasn’t stupid. I’d been in academia long enough to know the signs. Fascination always comes before the fall.
But this wasn’t just physical.
It was psychological.
She was smart. Intriguing. Measured but emotionally present. She didn’t just want to pass the course—she wanted to understand it. That hunger… it drew me in more than I cared to admit.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes.
This is why professors have boundaries.
This is why we don’t look.
This is why we don’t notice.
Because noticing leads to wondering.
Wondering leads to wanting.
And wanting… is a luxury I can't afford.
Not with her.
Not with anyone.
I closed her file, shut off my screen, and stood.
One semester. That’s all this is.
A test of discipline.
And I don’t fail my own tests.
- Writer
