THE PROFESSOR I SHOULDN'T WANT

Aria Bennett didn’t think mornings could ruin lives. Not real ones. Just late alarms, missed buses, spilled coffee kind of problems. The kind you forget by afternoon. That morning proved her wrong. St. Alden’s University was already awake when she stepped onto campus. The place always looked like it had money running through its walls—old stone buildings mixed with glass extensions, polished walkways, students dressed like they were always being watched. Aria adjusted her bag strap and walked faster. She had a full day ahead. Two lectures. A group briefing. A meeting she hadn’t even checked properly yet. Normal things. Safe things. Things that didn’t think too much. Her phone buzzed. Marco: “Meet me at the old arts building. Now. It’s important.” Aria slowed down for half a second. Marco didn’t usually text like that. He was more casual, more careless. Even serious things came wrapped in jokes with him. This message didn’t have that softness. Still, she typed back. “Okay. I’m coming.” No questions. That was her first mistake. --- The old arts building sat slightly away from the main campus. Older. Quieter. The kind of place people only entered when they had a reason, and even then, they usually left quickly. Aria pushed the door open. The hallway inside felt colder than outside. Dim lights. Long corridor. Slight echo when she walked. She slowed near the end. Voices. Soft at first. Then familiar. A laugh she knew too well. Her steps stopped before she even saw them. And then she turned the corner. Marco was there. Close. Too close. His hand rested on her best friend’s waist like it had every right to be there. Comfortable. Natural. Like it had been practiced. Her best friend looked up first. And froze. That was enough. Marco turned a second later. The silence that followed wasn’t loud. It was worse than loud. It filled the corridor completely, like the air itself had stopped trying. “Aria—” Marco started. But she didn’t hear the rest. Not properly. Her mind didn’t need explanations. It didn’t slow down for them. It understood everything immediately, in one sharp, clean hit. Three years didn’t flash in front of her eyes like a movie. It just… ended. Her best friend opened her mouth, then closed it again like nothing she could say would fix the fact that Aria was standing there. Marco stepped forward slightly. “It’s not what it looks like.” That line. People always said that line like it meant something new. Aria blinked once. Then again. Slow. Controlled. Her chest felt tight, but her face didn’t move. “What does it look like then?” she asked quietly. Marco hesitated. That hesitation said everything. Her jaw tightened slightly. Her best friend whispered her name, like it still meant something. Aria looked at her first. Then Marco. Then both of them together. Three years. And this was it. No shouting came. No dramatic collapse. Nothing cinematic. Just a long silence where Aria’s mind quietly stopped trying to understand them. “I should’ve told you,” Marco said. That was worse. Because it meant time existed before this moment where he chose not to. Aria let out a slow breath. Then nodded once. “Okay.” One word. Flat. Final. It didn’t match what she felt inside, but she didn’t let it show anywhere else. She stepped back. And turned around. --- She walked out of the building without rushing. That was important. Rushing would mean something was chasing her. Something was breaking her. She didn’t feel broken. Not yet. Outside, the air hit her differently. Brighter. Louder. Too normal. Students walked past her laughing. Someone bumped into her shoulder and apologized without looking. Life continued like nothing had shifted. That was the strangest part. Everything was the same. Except her. Aria stopped walking near a stone bench outside the building. Her hand tightened around her bag strap until her fingers ached. She didn’t cry. Not here. Not in public. Not for them. Instead, she just stood still for a moment longer than necessary, like her body needed time to decide what version of her came next. Then she exhaled. And kept moving. Anywhere but there. --- By the time she reached the main academic building, her expression had already changed. Not healed. Just controlled. That was her way. If something broke inside, she didn’t let it show outside. Not unless it forced its way out. The lecture hall was already half full when she entered. She didn’t think too much. She just picked a seat somewhere in the middle and sat down. Dropped her bag. Stared forward. Waiting for her mind to settle. It didn’t. Fragments kept slipping in. Marco’s voice. That silence. Her friend’s face. Aria pressed her fingers lightly against the edge of her notebook, grounding herself in something physical. She wasn’t going to think about it now. Not here. The room slowly filled. Noise returned in layers—chairs moving, soft conversations, pages flipping. Normal campus life resuming like nothing had happened in her world. Then something shifted. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a subtle drop in noise, like attention was being pulled forward without anyone agreeing to it out loud. Aria noticed it a second too late. She looked up. And saw him. Professor Adrian Vale. He didn’t walk in like most professors did, with rushed steps or forced energy. He entered like the room adjusted itself around him. Calm. Controlled. Unhurried. White shirt, sleeves rolled neatly. Dark trousers. Clean posture. Nothing wasted. He placed his notes on the desk and paused. Not long. Just enough for the room to settle fully. His gaze moved across the lecture hall. And for a fraction of a second, it landed somewhere near her. Not enough to call attention. But enough that Aria felt it anyway. Then he looked away. “Sit,” he said. One word. The room obeyed. --- The lecture began immediately. No introduction. No soft entry. Just information delivered with precision and control. Aria tried to focus. She really did. She opened her notebook and started writing. But her mind kept slipping back to earlier. Not fully. Just edges of it. Like her brain refused to file it away properly. At some point, she noticed she had stopped writing completely. Her pen hovered above the page. She looked up slightly. And felt it. That awareness. Not being watched openly. But noticed. Her eyes lifted just a bit more. Professor Vale was looking in her direction. Not directly enough to be obvious. But enough that her hand paused completely. Then he turned away and continued speaking like nothing had happened. Aria didn’t move for a moment. Then forced her pen back onto the page. --- When the lecture ended, the room slowly came back to life. Students stood. Packed up. Talked. Aria stayed seated a few seconds longer than necessary. Just breathing. Just existing. Then she stood with the others and adjusted her bag. “Miss Bennett.” Her name stopped her cleanly. Not loudly. Just precisely. She turned. Professor Vale was still at the front of the room. Most students had already left. He was looking at her. Only her. “You stayed engaged through the lecture,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Aria shifted her grip on her bag. “I was taking notes.” A short pause. His gaze held for a moment longer. “I didn’t assign notes yet,” he said. Silence. Aria blinked once. Then nodded slightly. “I was just ahead.” That made something subtle shift in his expression. Not approval. Not disapproval. Recognition. “Good,” he said. One word. Simple. But it didn’t feel like dismissal. He closed his laptop. Then added, almost casually, “You’ll be in my seminar group next week.” Aria nodded. “Okay.” She turned to leave. Then his voice followed, quieter. “Don’t sit at the back.” She stopped for half a second. Then nodded once without turning around. And walked out. --- But behind her, Professor Vale didn’t move immediately. He stayed where he was. Watching the space she had just left. Not for long. But long enough to feel slightly unfamiliar. Like something had shifted. And he didn’t fully have a name for it yet.