Sorry Professor, You Said You Are WHAT?

Episode14

KATHLEEN'S P.O.V.

I don't see Professor Dawson again for the rest of the week, which honestly brings me some sort of relief, a break to fall back into reminiscing about how things were before we met. When all I had to worry about was inevitably talking to my dad, catching up with my brother once in a while, and worrying about money, which, by the way, reminded me of how much I needed to get a job. And of course, my not-so-pleasant memory of my ex-boyfriend cheating on me with my ex-best friend.

I throw myself back into my routine-classes, sketching, zoning out during lectures that seem awfully boring, I can't help it. It helps me tho, a bit.

Still, I don't feel completely normal; I don't feel like my usual self.

By Friday afternoon, I'm packing up my things in the art studio when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I almost ignore it, assuming it's Lexi calling to complain about something trivial. But when I glance at the screen, my steps falter.

Unknown number. My stomach twists in fear and something else.

I hesitate before opening the message, my pulse quickening despite myself.

'Miss Ramirez,

I hope this message finds you well. I apologise for reaching out this way. Please know that this is purely for professional reasons.

-Professor Dawson'

Relief and confusion crash into each other.

I reread the message twice, then a third time, before another notification appeared.

'I've noticed you've seemed rather burdened lately. I won't pry into the cause, but I'd like to offer you something-if you're open to it. Nothing obligatory.' I swallow.

My thumb hovers over the screen, uncertain. After a moment, I type back.

'What kind of offer?'

The reply comes almost instantly, as though he'd been waiting.

'An art commission. A private one.' My breath catches.

'I recently acquired a property upstate that requires a series of original pieces-conceptual sketches, preliminary work. I was impressed by your portfolio earlier this semester. I thought this might serve as both ways, yourself in experience and compensation, and I in satisfaction and exquisite pieces.'

Compensation.

The word makes my heart beat quicker a tad bit.

I sit on one of the stools, my sketchbook resting on my lap as I process his words. This wasn't what I expected. There's no pressure in his tone, no demand. Just an offer-one that feels... thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

'You don't have to decide immediately,' he adds.

'I simply thought it might help. Sometimes immersing yourself in work can be a form of therapy and can help to take your mind off certain things which seem to be bothering you. As you've seemed of late.'

My throat tightens. It was quite generous of him, I'm not going to lie. The thought of him watching me these past few days, so intently that he noticed my worries, was...endearing.

I stare at the message, my thoughts tangled. A thousand voices tell me I should decline-boundaries, professionalism, the complicated feelings I refuse to name. But another part of me, the tired part, the part that wants something steady to hold onto, whispers that this might be good for me.

Something to focus on. Something real, closer to home.

'I appreciate the offer,' I type slowly. 'What would it involve exactly?'

There's a pause this time.

Long enough for doubt to creep in. And then-

'We can discuss the details over coffee,' he replies. On campus, perhaps after one of our classes or whenever you're free. Just let me know.'

I let out a taut breath I hadn't realised I was holding.

'Alright,' I respond. 'One meeting.'

'Of course,' he replies. 'Thank you for trusting me, Kathleen.'

The use of my name sends a strange warmth through me. I imagined him saying it, watching as my name slipped off his lips. A tremor coursed through me.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, staring down at my sketchbook. For a moment, I consider opening it-drawing, immersing myself the way I always do.

But instead, I just sit there, heart humming quietly in my chest.

I think through his offer once more. Although seeking nothing more than a nice gesture on the outside, I can't help but think that there's more to it.

It feels...more. More than what an average professor would offer his average student. Perhaps he felt obligated to, given the...moments we had. Now that I thought about it, there had always been something different between us. He had taken notice of me from the very first moment we saw each other in the classroom. A tiny, unreasonable part of me thought perhaps he fancied me.

And that stupid thought, somehow, unsettles me more than anything else ever has.

That evening while at home, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. Not knowing who it was and beyond exhausted, I refused to pick up.

However, a few more persistent calls from this caller has me picking up with a tired groan.

"Hello," I mutter groggily, pulling the pillow lodged between my legs closer to me, my eyes closed.

A masculine chuckle has me tensing up, followed by a voice that says in a humorous tone, "Is that any way to greet your brother kitty kat?"

I sit up in a flash, moving the phone away from my ear as I stare at the screen and put it back on my ear, "Marcus?" I whisper unsurely.

"Hello, sister."

I scoff lightly, a genuine smile spreading across my lips, "What do you want, Marcus?"

"Ouch, can't a brother simply check up on his sister?" I could imagine him pouting in mock hurt.

Snorting, I respond, falling back onto my bed, "When that brother hasn't bothered to call in months, yeah, it does seem suspicious." Although my tone is light, I still feel a bit hurt. I had sent texts and called a few times, but he didn't respond. I had begun to think he had completely forgotten about me.

A pause rests between us; there's slight movement in the background. "I'm sorry, Kat, truly I am." He says quietly.

Even though he doesn't see me, I nod. I had spent far too long being angry at him. He told me what he'd been up to these past few months, his life and everything in between. We talked late into the night, promising to meet up soon so we could talk properly.

After we hung up, for the first time in a while, I felt lighter, and sleep came easy.