Sorry Professor, You Said You Are WHAT?

Episode13

KATHLEEN'S P.O.V.

Sleep refuses to come, not like I expected it to, though, given what happened. No matter how tightly I shut my eyes or how much I covered myself with my blanket, tugging at it nearly every minute, my mind kept replaying the image of the rose on my doorstep and the letter. How exquisitely neat and precise the handwriting was. The words kept replaying like a broken record in my mind.

'I wanted to know you....You're beautiful, Kathleen.'

I turn onto my side with a frustrated sigh, staring at the faint glow of the city lights peeking through my curtains.

Whoever this unknown stalker was, they had been there for quite a while. 'They see me.'

My skin crawls as I recount the words, a deep-seated panic settling somewhere deep in my chest. It terrified me beyond measure. Because whoever wrote that didn't just admire me from afar-they knew me. Knew where I lived. Knew my name. And worse, they knew how to reach me without being seen.

My fingers curled into the sheets.

I'd locked the door twice before slipping into bed and double-checked again out of paranoia. I'd double-checked the windows. Even stood quietly in the hallway listening for the slightest sounds, sounds that belonged to an invader. But there had been nothing but silence, a silence that had me squirming.

My weariness and restlessness finally gave way to sleep, a troubling sleep that promised nightmares.

The next morning, I awoke with a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes and a tightness in my stomach that refuses to loosen. The events of the previous day and restless night weighed heavily on me. I felt so exhausted I debated skipping class.

But the thought of staying home alone, of sitting aimlessly in my apartment wondering if someone was watching from the shadow, forces me out the door instead. At this point, being around people sounded like a much better idea. I needed a distraction, and what better distraction than being around friends who could lift my spirits?

Still, I can't shake the sensation that I'm being followed.

At intervals, I'd stop walking, glancing over my shoulder, my heart thumping hard in my chest, my nerves skyrocketing only to relax when I find nothing suspicious, only passing students and familiar faces.

'Get a grip, Kathleen. No one's following you. 'It's all in your head.' I murmured, tightening my grip around the strap of my bag.

By the time I stepped into Professor Dawson's lecture hall, my nerves had already settled. I slip into my usual seat, keeping my head low, focusing on the sounds of students' loud chattering as they fill the room.

Then I feel it. That shift in the air.

I don't need to look up to know he's entered the room. I never need to. My body reacts before my mind can catch up-goosebumps form on my skin, and my breathing and pulse quicken.

When I finally glance up, our eyes meet, although it's just for a fleeting second.

And in that second, everything else fades into nothingness.

There's something different about him today. His expression is calm-too calm-but his eyes are sharp and watchful. Perhaps it's just me, but he seems to be on guard. His gaze drifts over my face slowly, deliberately, before he looks away and begins the lecture as though nothing happened.

But my skin prickles in response to his intense gaze.

The class passes in a blur. I try to focus-really try-but I fail to grasp fully what he was saying. I could only watch his movements, his aura commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

When the lecture ends, I don't wait. I gather my things quickly and rush out of the room before he can ask me to stay behind, before he can look at me again like that. My heart is racing by the time I reach the hallway.

"Miss Ramirez." I freeze, and slowly, I turn.

Professor Dawson stands a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed. To anyone else, he probably looks harmless. Professional. Composed.

But I saw it, that look again. That intense look left me rattled, his eyes lowering to my lips ever so slightly I nearly missed, his jaw tightening a tick.

"Yes?" My voice comes out softer than I intend.

"Are you alright?" he asks calmly. The question throws me off guard.

I nod too quickly. "I'm fine."

His eyes linger on me, studying my face as though searching for cracks. "You seem... distracted lately."

I swallow. "I'm just tired."

A silent pause rests between us.

"If you need anything," he says quietly, "you know you can always come to me."

Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten.

"I know," I murmur.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels tense, charged with words left unsaid. He gives me a small nod, which I take as a sign to leave.

But as I walk away, I feel his piercing gaze on my back.

That evening, Lexi calls. I don't answer at first, staring at my phone instead, debating whether to tell her about the letter and the rose. But my fear holds me back. What if the stalker finds out and dislikes my decision? What if he decides to hurt her for knowing?

I couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for being the reason anyone would get hurt. My chest hurt so bad I wanted to curl up and cry.

Instead, I text back casually.

'Hey Lexi, what's up? I'm feeling a bit under the weather; can we talk later?'

A lie.

I spend the rest of the night sketching again, hoping it'd take my mind off things, my pencil moving lightly. When I finally stop and look down, my breath catches.

It's him, although it's a rough sketch. The outline of his sharp features, those captivating eyes that had me enchanted whenever I'd look into them.

My hands tremble as I close the sketchbook.

I didn't know how much longer I could continue like this; any more of this and I'd surely go crazy.

First it was paranoia of someone watching me right from my time in the library, the sketch of the wolf, the stalker, and now this?

I needed someone; I needed to vent. Perhaps I needed to go to therapy...

And somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and confusion, there's a truth I didn't want to admit yet.

All of these that had been happening, the paranoia, the self-awareness, everything. It felt like it was all linked to him.

It started with him the day our eyes first locked.