Chapter 4 ~ Something Dangerous
1659 Words
{Aria’s POV}
If someone asked me what the worst part of this situation was, I would’ve said it was the guilt.
Or the anxiety. Or the constant, stomach-twisting fear of being exposed.
But no. The worst part wasn’t any of that.
The worst part was the waiting.
The unbearable, ridiculous, slow-motion waiting for him to walk into class again.
I hated myself for it— for the flutter in my chest when my alarm went off, for the extra ten minutes I strangely spent choosing a shirt this morning, for the way I checked my hair in every reflective surface like I was prepping to meet the President instead of a professor whose bed I had absolutely no business being in.
“Woah. Aria, chill with your breathing,” Maya muttered as we walked across campus. “You look like you’re about to confess a crime.”
Maybe I was.
Maybe I already had.
“It’s the second week of classes,” I responded, forcing my voice steady. “I’m just… nervous.”
“You? Nervous? This class is literally the least intimidating one you’re taking.”
Right.
If only she knew.
If only anyone knew.
We walked into the classroom, and I pretended not to scan the front of the room immediately. I pretended not to hope. Not to dread.
But thankfully, Cassian wasn’t there yet.
Good.
I needed air.
I needed a moment to gather what was left of my sanity and staple it back together before he walked in and shredded its remains.
Maya plopped into her seat beside me and opened her sketchbook. “What if he’s ugly today?” she whispered playfully.
I blinked. “What?”
“Like what if he shows up with a weird haircut or smelling like onions? Boom. Attraction gone. Problem solved.” She said and I almost laughed.
Almost— but that hope died the second the door opened, and he walked in.
Cassian Hale did not show up ugly.
He did not show up smelling like onions or show up with a weird haircut.
No.
He walked in wearing a charcoal shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark slacks, and that infuriatingly calm expression that pretended nothing between us was dangerous.
He was.. stunning and pulse jumped at his appearance.
Maya made a low appreciative sound under her breath now because of course she did. Meanwhile, I swallowed.
Cassian didn’t look at me. Not at first.
He set his things down, adjusted his watch, and smoothed a stray crease on his shirt. Little, harmless gestures that shouldn’t have made my throat tighten.
He clicked his pen once; a small sound. Barely noticeable, but then his jaw twitched.
A tell.
He was nervous.
Good.
Why should I be the only one falling apart?
The room quieted now as Cassian lifted the attendance sheet. I exhaled shakily.
This part should’ve been easy since it was routine.
It wasn’t.
Names bounced around the room as he read them off with smooth, practiced ease.
“Beltran, Sofia.”
“Here.”
“Chen, Lucas.”
“Present.”
“Cooper, Maya.”
Maya raised her hand quickly at his call, her elbow nudging me.
“Sheesh,” she whispered. “He’s even got a sexy attendance voice.” She muttered and I ignored her because the next name on the list made my stomach flip inside out.
“Dane, Aria,” he read. Except it wasn’t just reading.
My name rolled off his tongue softer than the rest, almost like he tasted it before saying it. Almost like he remembered calling me something else some hours ago.
With his utterance, his eyes lifted, involuntarily, instinctively, and they locked with mine.
There it was.
That moment. That subtle, devastating crack in his composure. He tensed— a little, but I saw it.
His fingers tightened around the paper, just slightly, but I saw that too.
I raised my hand weakly now. “H-here.” The syllable wobbled like a baby deer walking for the first time.
He nodded slowly and then dropped his eyes back to the page with almost violent control. The air was evidently tensed and I exhaled shakily.
Maya stared at me like she’d just watched something illegal.
“What was THAT?” she hissed.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
“Aria. I’m your best friend, which means I’m contractually obligated to all your s**t so tell me what that was!”
I didn’t respond to Maya because Cassian started speaking again, diving into the lecture with the kind of intensity professors usually reserved for thesis defense week.
But it wasn’t enthusiasm propelling him.
It was escape.
He was running. Running from the moment our eyes met. Running from any similar future instances, and I hated how much I could relate to that.
His voice was steady, but not effortless. The subtle strain wasn’t imaginary— it was there, threading through his every word, tightening his articulation.
He didn’t walk around the room today. Didn’t approach desks.
Didn’t risk coming near me.
He stayed at the podium like it was a lifeboat but that didn’t stop me from noticing him.
The way he ran his thumb along the edge of the paper. The way he tapped his finger twice whenever he almost lost his train of thought.
The way he swallowed between sentences when his eyes dared drift even vaguely in my direction.
No, he didn’t look at me. But he almost did, and he hated himself for it— I could tell.
Halfway through the lecture, Maya leaned closer again. “Okay, now I know I’m not crazy,” she whispered. “He’s acting like you burned down his childhood home. Do you know him from somewhere?”
I shot her a look. “I don’t. Maya, stop—”
But I couldn’t even finish my sentence because my own chest was tightening too fast. I knew exactly why he was acting that way.
Because pretending nothing happened was harder than actually acknowledging it. Because ignoring me didn’t erase the memory— it just made it louder. I knew this because I was battling the same feeling.
Cassian clicked to the next slide.
“Now, when we explore interpretive subjectivity—”
His voice faltered.
Why?
Because his eyes accidentally drifted toward me while mine were already on him.
His jaw clenched again and he looked back at the slide with so much force I thought he might burn a hole through it.
I threw my gaze to my notebook also and realized my fingers were trembling a bit. I scribbled nonsense on the page as the lecture went on, pretending it meant something.
It didn’t.
When the lecture ended, I felt like I had just held my breath for an entire hour.
“Aria,” Maya said, stuffing her notebook away, “I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what is going on—”
I stood abruptly.
“I have to use the bathroom.”
“That’s not— That’s not even a good excuse!”
I ignored her and slipped out before the crowd could pin me in place.
But freedom was short-lived.
I’d barely taken three steps down the hall when a quiet voice behind me rang.
“Aria.”
Not loud.
Not commanding.
Soft, low, and painful.
I froze.
His footsteps were slow as he approached like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to come closer.
I turned to his direction with my pulse hammering against my veins and my skin. I turned to see Cassian standing a few feet away, expression unreadable but threaded with tension.
The hallway around us was empty.
Too empty.
“Professor Hale,” I tried to say casually but my voice cracked embarrassingly.
In reaction, he cleared his throat a bit and exhaled like the breath had been stuck in him since the beginning of class.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
“I.. I don’t think we do,” I blurted. “Everything’s fine. We’re fine. Very fine.”
He stared at me like I’d spoken in ancient Greek.
“Aria,” he repeated, his voice firmer now. “Please.”
I looked around desperately.
The hallway felt dangerously intimate, like the universe was staging an intervention for two people who absolutely did not need to be in proximity!
“We can’t talk,” I whispered. “We said we’d pretend nothing happened.”
His throat visibly worked.
“What happened… can’t happen again,” he repeated softly.
Hearing it again hurt more.
But then his eyes softened, painfully, and in that instant I knew; He wasn’t saying it for himself.
He was saying it for me… and that made it so much worse because it made me seem like the one who would fail in any case.
“I’m your professor now,” he said, quieter. “And I need you to understand that I’m trying to do the right thing.”
I nodded even though my heart squeezed painfully.
He stepped back half a pace now in his attempt to leave after “making things clear”, but then his eyes, in that split second before he looked away, revealed something.
Something unguarded.
Something familiar.
Something that proved pretending wouldn’t save either of us.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else— something real — but then a group of students turned the corner, laughing loudly.
With that, he stiffened and his mask snapped back into place.
“I’ll… see you in class, Aria,” he said, voice distant now as he turned.
With that, my heart stung in a weird way and that was the moment I realized the truth:
Ignoring him wouldn’t make the pull disappear.
Pretending wouldn’t make that dark night fade.
And whatever was forming between us— It wasn’t going anywhere. Not until it destroyed something.
Maybe both of us.
- Writer
