**Chapter 6 — The New Flatmate
798 Words
Lily could barely breathe.
“Me.”
The word still echoed in her chest long after Professor Hale said it. The way he looked at her… the way he covered her phone… the way jealousy simmered through his calm voice…
Her heart was too loud. Too fast. Too everything.
She needed to get out.
“I—I have to go,” she said suddenly, grabbing her bag with trembling hands.
He leaned back slightly, but his eyes never left her. “Where?”
“Home. I have… someone coming. A new flatmate. I’m supposed to be there when they arrive.”
For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his expression.
“Right now?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
He studied her, as if trying to decide whether to stop her, to say something else, to reach for her again. But after a long breath, he nodded once—slow, controlled, but with something burning beneath the surface.
“Go,” he murmured. “Before you’re late.”
She stood, almost stumbling over her own feet.
As she hurried toward the library exit, she could feel his stare lingering on her back—hot, heavy, impossible to shake. She didn’t dare turn around.
Outside, the cold air hit her like a shock.
She practically ran across campus, hands shaking, heart still tangled in everything he had said. The walk home was a blur—her pulse racing, her mind replaying every word:
Jealous.
You have no idea how hard I’m trying.
Tell him you’re busy.
Me.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe until she reached her apartment door. Her suitcase with spare sheets was still in the hallway—she had been preparing for the new roommate all week, someone the landlord assigned last-minute, someone she hadn’t met yet, someone whose name she didn’t even get.
She pushed the door open—
And froze.
A tall figure stood in the living room, back turned, setting a bag on the couch. Familiar posture. Familiar shoulders. Familiar presence she would recognize anywhere.
Her breath stopped.
“No,” she whispered.
He turned.
Professor Hale.
But not in a classroom, not in a library.
In her apartment.
In casual clothes.
In her space.
Right in front of her.
His eyes widened for a split second—surprise, disbelief, something close to shock.
“Lily?”
Her entire body went numb.
“You—” she choked. “You’re the new flatmate?”
He stepped toward her slowly, cautiously, like she was something fragile he might scare away.
“I didn’t know,” he said, voice low, steady, but with a rough edge. “Your landlord contacted me yesterday. I… didn’t know it was your address.”
Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
“I can leave,” he said after a moment, though his eyes said he didn’t want to. “If this makes you uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable wasn’t the word.
It was everything—too much, too intense, too close.
“You’re my professor,” she whispered.
His jaw clenched faintly. “I’m aware.”
“And we just—” She swallowed hard. “In the library, you—”
His eyes softened with something she wasn’t ready to name.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I remember what I said.”
She took a shaky step back and collided with the door, unable to move farther.
He stepped closer—not enough to touch her, but enough to feel him.
“Lily,” he said softly, almost pleading, “I didn’t ask for this arrangement. But now that I’m here… tell me honestly.”
Her breath trembled.
“Do you want me to leave?”
The room fell into silence.
Heavy.
Electric.
Full of everything they weren’t supposed to say.
She should say yes.
She knew she should.
But the word caught in her throat and refused to come.
He noticed.
His expression shifted—slowly, dangerously, beautifully. Not a smile, but a warmth spreading through his gaze, something deep and unguarded.
“I’ll stay in my room,” he murmured. “I won’t cross any lines.”
He stepped closer again, voice dropping to something intimate.
“Unless you ask me to.”
Lily’s heart almost stopped.
The distance between them shrank to breath, to heartbeat, to nothing but charged silence.
She finally managed to speak—barely.
“This is… complicated.”
His eyes held hers like he could hear the real meaning behind her words.
“Yes,” he said softly. “But tell me if I’m wrong.”
His voice brushed over her skin like heat.
“You don’t want me to walk out that door.”
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
The truth was already in her silence.
- Writer
