Chapter 3: Aurora
976 Words
I didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Every time I drifted off, I felt it again—
that warmth, that pressure, that unfamiliar pull in my chest.
And every time, I woke up just before I could understand it.
By morning, I gave up.
The house was quiet when I stepped into the kitchen.
Too quiet.
My grandmother was already out in the garden—I could see her faint silhouette through the window, moving slowly between rows of winter herbs. My grandfather’s chair sat empty, a folded newspaper resting on the table beside it.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
I clung to that.
I made coffee I didn’t want and toast I couldn’t taste, forcing myself through the motions like it would reset something inside me.
Like it would erase last night.
It didn’t.
The drive to campus was short.
Too short.
I didn’t have enough time to prepare myself—to rebuild whatever walls had cracked.
The university stood ahead, quiet and familiar, its old brick buildings dusted with the last of winter. Students walked in clusters, laughing, talking, existing in a way that felt distant from me.
Like I was watching, not part of it.
That was easier.
Safer.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and kept my head down as I walked across campus.
Focus.
Classes. Notes. Routine.
Nothing else matters.
My first lecture was already filling when I stepped inside.
I took my usual seat near the back—not too far, not too close. A place where I could disappear without being completely unnoticed.
My notebook opened. Pen ready.
Everything in place.
Control.
Students murmured around me, voices blending into a soft hum.
“Did you hear the new professor is finally starting today?”
“Yeah, apparently he transferred mid-semester.”
“I heard he’s strict.”
“I heard he’s hot.”
I rolled my eyes slightly, keeping my attention on the blank page in front of me.
It didn’t matter.
Professors came and went. They were all the same—distant, focused, irrelevant to anything outside the classroom.
Just another person I wouldn’t get close to.
The door opened.
The room shifted.
It was subtle—but I felt it.
That quiet change in the air, like something had just… entered.
I didn’t look up.
Not at first.
I kept my eyes on my notebook, tightening my grip on my pen.
Focus.
“Good morning.”
The voice—
Low. Smooth.
Familiar.
My breath stopped.
No.
No, that’s not—
Slowly, against my better judgment, I looked up.
And everything inside me went still.
It was him.
The same dark gaze.
The same composed, almost amused expression.
The same presence that seemed to fill the entire room without trying.
The stranger from last night.
The man who said he was nobody.
Standing at the front of my classroom.
My stomach dropped.
My fingers tightened around my pen so hard it almost snapped.
No.
This isn’t real.
This can’t be happening.
He looked… different.
Cleaner. Controlled. Dressed in a crisp shirt, sleeves slightly rolled, like he belonged here. Like this was normal.
Like last night never happened.
But then—
His eyes moved.
And landed on me.
It wasn’t obvious.
Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed.
But I did.
Because for a brief second—
He paused.
My chest tightened.
Heat rushed to my face.
He recognized me.
Of course he did.
How could he not?
Something flickered in his eyes.
Interest.
Recognition.
Something darker.
And then—
It was gone.
Like it was never there.
“Take your seats,” he said calmly, setting his notes down.
His voice was steady.
Unbothered.
Professional.
Like he didn’t kiss me last night.
Like his hands weren’t on me.
Like he didn’t look at me like—
Stop.
“I’ll be taking over this course effective immediately.”
I couldn’t breathe properly.
Every word he said felt distant, like I was underwater.
My ears rang.
My thoughts scattered.
“Michael Knight.”
The name hit me harder than it should have.
So that’s his name.
Not nobody.
Not a stranger.
Michael.
Professor.
Professor Michael
My stomach twisted.
This is wrong.
Everything about this is wrong.
I forced my gaze down to my notebook, but the words wouldn’t register. My pen hovered above the page, unmoving.
I could feel it.
His presence.
Even without looking, I knew exactly where he was.
Exactly how close.
“Medicine,” he continued, pacing slowly. “Is not just knowledge. It is discipline. Control.”
Control.
The word echoed in my head like a warning.
“And if you lack either,” he added, voice quieter now, sharper, “you will fail.”
Something in the way he said it—
It felt like it wasn’t just about the class.
My breath hitched.
Against my will, I looked up again.
He was already looking at me.
This time, he didn’t look away.
My pulse spiked.
My chest rose and fell too fast.
There was something in his gaze now—something deliberate.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Like he remembered everything.
Like he wasn’t going to let me forget.
I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes back down.
Focus.
Ignore him.
This is just a class.
He’s just a professor.
Last night meant nothing.
But my body didn’t believe that.
Because I could still feel it—
That pull.
That dangerous, unexplainable pull toward him.
And somehow…
It felt stronger now.
I tightened my grip on my pen, trying to ground myself.
Trying to remind myself who I was.
Aurora Whitmore.
Second-year medical student.
Focused. Controlled. Untouchable.
But as his voice continued, smooth and steady at the front of the room—
I realized something that made my chest tighten.
I wasn’t as untouchable as I thought.
And he—
Wasn’t going to stay a stranger.
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