Chapter 2 ~ His Eyes Said My Name
1666 Words
{Aria’s POV}
If God was accepting applications for Most Embarrassed Individual of the Year, I would’ve been the top candidate the morning I walked into Art Theory 402.
I knew something was off the second I stepped inside the classroom.
It felt too quiet, too sterile, too… important.
Like the universe was standing on the opposite wall, arms crossed, smirking:
“Oh, you thought last night was the end of your humiliation? Just wait.”
Students trickled in around me, sliding into chairs, gossiping loudly, adjusting their tote bags full of charcoal pencils and sketchbooks like we were preparing for battle instead of a lecture.
I chose a seat dead center, middle of the middle. Exactly the type of place someone who wanted to hide should not choose.
But after moaning in a stranger’s arms and spending the night drowning my feelings in his warmth, my decision-making skills had apparently retired.
I dropped my backpack on the desk and tried to breathe.
I was okay.
Right?
New day.
Fresh start.
Clean slate.
Totally fine.
I pulled out my notebook and pretended to be a functioning adult.
The clock ticked and the door stayed closed while students chatted.
“Who do you think the new professor is?”
“Someone old probably.”
“I heard he’s strict.”
“No, I heard he’s young.”
“Please let him be hot.”
“Ew, gross.”
“Let me manifest.”
I tuned them out.
My mind was stuck replaying last night’s scene like a movie I didn’t remember filming.
His warmth.
His voice.
His steady hands.
The way he’d asked if I was sure like it mattered.
I shook my head.
No.
We are not thinking about that.
We are focusing on school.
On the future.
On being a responsible, and emotionally stable human being. And then the doorknob turned…
Everyone quieted and heads swiveled toward the front.
I straightened my pose responsibly… and then he walked in.
He was…
My stomach dropped so violently I almost groaned.
It was him.
Him!
The stranger from the bar.
The man whose room I’d escaped at sunrise. The one whose mouth had been in the darker parts of my body only forty-eight hours earlier…
But he wasn’t just “him” anymore.
He wasn’t nameless.
He wasn’t just the warm presence beside me at the bar.
He was… my professor.
My soul left my body.
He stepped inside the class with calm authority, a navy dress shirt tucked neatly into slacks, with sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms I should not have noticed in an academic setting.
His tie was straight this time, perfectly knotted and his face was composed.
Professional.
Unreadable.
But the second his eyes found me—
Everything stopped.
My lungs forgot oxygen existed.
My heart fell out of its cavity
And my soul went farther away from my body.
He froze too, just for a fraction of a second. But I caught it.
The slight hitch in his breath..
The way his eyes widened and then instantly shuttered…
The recognition…
It hit him like a punch.
I sat glued to my seat, hands trembling beneath the desk, while he swallowed hard and forced his gaze away.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice steady but a little too low. “Welcome to Art Theory 402.”
No.
No no no!
This wasn’t happening.
This was the universe mocking me.
This was karma with red lipstick and a wine glass, giggling at my misery.
He placed his folder on the podium and straightened the stack of papers with a sharp tap.
I winced.
The sound felt personal.
“My name is Professor Cassian Hale,” he continued, writing his name on the board in clean, confident strokes.
Cassian.
His name was Cassian.
God, the universe wasn’t even trying to hide the ridicule anymore.
The girl next to me whispered, “He’s so hot.”
I pretended to gag even though I internally agreed.
Cassian scanned the room again, doing a fast headcount, but when his gaze slid over me this time, he moved quickly— too quickly, and continued away.
If I could’ve melted into the chair, I would’ve.
“We’ll begin with attendance,” he said calmly.
His voice.
Why did it have to be the same voice that had whispered against my neck and poured in between my thighs two nights ago?
I poured out a heavy breath.
He began reading the list now while I continued bleeding out sweat.
“Beltran, Sofia.”
“Here.”
“Chen, Lucas.”
“Present.”
“Here.”
“Dane.. Aria.”
My name landed like a hammer on the floor.
I raised a weak hand now, “Here.” I muttered almost silently and his hand actually paused over the page.
I swear it did.
He cleared his throat almost immediately, but that didn’t fix the tension tightening the space between us.
The rest of the attendance passed in a fuzzy, nauseating haze. My pen tapped the corner of my notebook until my fingers hurt and when he started the lecture, I tried to focus.
Really, I did.
But how was I supposed to concentrate when the man at the podium was someone I’d seen clothless?
Someone I’d kissed?
Someone whose sweat had mixed with mine in ways I refuse to address?
He moved with a smooth confidence, gesturing lightly as he explained the foundation of interpretive art theory.
His hands were steady.
Patient.
Precise.
And I remembered them on my waist.
No.
We can’t be doing this, Aria.
I forced my eyes onto my notebook now, but my ears betrayed me. They caught every shift in his tone, every change in pace, every breath he took between sentences.
And when he walked past my row… the faint smell of cedar and something warm drifted over me.
And my heart forgot its job again.
He was close enough for me to feel the heat of him. But he didn’t even glance at me.
Good.
That was good.
Exactly what we needed.
Exactly what I needed, except it wasn’t.
Because my chest tightened like it resented being ignored. I couldn’t really explain the feeling but then it was there.
When the lecture ended, the class erupted into chatters, chairs scraping back, backpacks zipping.
Usually, I’d be the first to flee.
But today, my body refused to move.
Probably because my brain was too busy malfunctioning.
Cassian stood at the podium gathering his notes with stiff, careful movements.
I could tell he was trying to seem unaffected, but he was failing.
Subtly. Quietly.
But failing.
Everyone filtered out. Maya, my best friend, waved at me from the door, mouthing, “You okay?”
I nodded like a liar and then, unfortunately, the room emptied when she left, going to quickly use the restroom.
Maya was the last person other than me, so I stood slowly, trying to make my exit quiet and uneventful now.
I’d almost made it to the door when he spoke.
“Aria.”
I froze.
My name didn’t sound like a mere attendance mark when he said it. It sounded like something dangerous and fragile all at once.
I turned.
He was leaning against the desk, arms folded, expression unreadable but tight around the eyes.
He looked like someone bracing for impact.
“We should talk,” he said.
Talk.
Right.
Sure.
Let’s absolutely talk about how I swallowed liquid and ran out of his hotel room like a criminal.
I swallowed. “About what?” I asked like I didn’t have the faintest idea.
His jaw flexed.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. This seemed more difficult for him since he was the one bringing up the topic and trying to be the mature one between us.
“That night,” he said finally, his voice almost quiet. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
I nodded quickly.
“Of course. Yes. I completely agree. It didn’t happen.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“That’s not what I said.”
“Well, it didn’t,” I insisted, waving my hands like I was shooing away the memory. “Not anymore. Not here. Not in class. I mean— why would we even think about it? As far as I’m concerned, you’re my professor and I’m your student and nothing else happened and everything is fine.”
I was rambling. And I had every reason to because there was no way I was going to discuss what happened in that heated darkness two days ago.
And so I preferred to ramble and he knew this.
He sighed softly now, the kind of sigh that sounded like defeat.
“Aria…”
He said my name like he knew it too well for someone who was supposed to barely know me at all.
“We will keep this professional,” he said. “Strictly.”
“Good,” I said at once.
“Great.”
He stepped aside slightly to let me pass. And I did, with his arm brushing mine for the shortest, smallest second.
It felt like electricity and I left the room before my heart could betray me with an audible sound.
Having returned from the restroom, Maya was waiting right outside, arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.
“What,” she demanded. “Was that about?”
I blinked innocently.
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing,” she muttered, poking my arm. “Why do you look like you just saw the ghost of your puberty crush?”
“It’s just… first day nerves.” I lied, badly. Terribly and Maya snorted.
“Come on, Aria, babe, you look like you had a full religious experience in there.” She joked but I didn’t reply.
I didn’t reply because she wasn’t wrong.
And deep down, I knew this wasn’t the end.
It was just the beginning of a very, very bad idea…
- Writer
