Craving my Professor

Chapter 20 – Close Enough to Touch

The lecture hall was already half full when Aria walked in, clutching her notebook to her chest as if it could steady the pounding of her heart.

The morning air was cool, soft light filtering through the tall windows and spilling across the rows of seats.

Professor Cassian Draven stood near the front, leaning over the edge of his desk as he spoke to another lecturer. His voice was low, deep, measured.

She froze for a second. Every time she saw him, her chest tightened in the same way, like something invisible had caught her breath before she could release it. His shirt sleeves were rolled up today, exposing strong forearms dusted with faint stubble. His tie was loose, undone in a way that seemed too deliberate.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

Aria’s fingers twitched. Normally she sat near the middle of the hall, close enough to hear him clearly but far enough to feel invisible. Today, though, she’d made up her mind. She would sit close. Close enough to see every detail when he frowned, every flicker in his eyes when she asked a question.

Her friends, Harper and Isla, waved from their usual seats.

“Over here, Aria!” Isla whispered.

Aria hesitated, forcing a small smile before shaking her head.

“I’ll sit closer today. Need to hear him properly.”

Harper arched a brow. “Or you just want him to hear you.”

“Stop,” Aria muttered, cheeks warming.

She slipped into a seat at the second row, directly across from his desk. Her pulse raced. When Cassian finally looked up, his gaze swept through the room then stopped.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow.

His eyes found hers, and she could swear something sharp and questioning flickered there. She didn’t look away, though she wanted to.

Instead, she uncapped her pen with trembling fingers, pretending to focus on her notes.

When he began the lecture, his voice was even and calm, but she could sense an undercurrent.

“Today, we’ll be analysing the romantic paradox in The Age of Innocence,” he began. “What happens when love collides with societal expectation, when wanting becomes something dangerous?”

The irony nearly made her laugh.

He walked between the rows as he spoke, the faint scent of his cologne drifting close when he passed her seat.

Something cool brushed the back of her hand, his sleeve, perhaps by accident. Her breath caught.

“Miss Vale,” he said suddenly.

Her head jerked up. “Yes, Professor?”

He stood a few steps away, one hand in his pocket, expression unreadable.

“What does Wharton teach us about repression?”

Her throat felt dry. “That... that sometimes what we suppress doesn’t disappear. It just changes form. It hides under civility.”

His gaze lingered. “Interesting. And when it hides long enough?”

Aria swallowed hard. “It explodes.”

Something dark glinted in his eyes. “Exactly.”

He turned away before she could breathe again, continuing his walk through the hall. But she could still feel his attention like heat under her skin.

Throughout the lecture, she kept catching glimpses of him watching her. A brush of his voice when he said her name again, a pause when her pen slipped, a faint smirk when she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

When class ended, the room filled with chatter. Students gathered their things, filing out in pairs. Aria took her time, pretending to search her bag for something. She didn’t want to leave yet.

Cassian was still at the front, stacking papers, his back to her.

“Professor?” she called softly.

He turned. His expression shifted slightly, surprise first, then something more controlled.

“Yes, Miss Vale?”

“I wanted to ask about the essay,” she said, walking closer. “You mentioned thematic contrast. I’m not sure how to approach it.”

He leaned against the desk, folding his arms.

“You understood the concept in class. What part confuses you?”

“Not the idea,” she murmured, stopping just a few steps away. “The emotion. How to write it without sounding... detached.”

He studied her. For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged, full of words that shouldn’t be said.

“Emotion is not weakness, Miss Vale,” he said finally. “It’s a truth most people run from. Writers shouldn’t.”

His tone was gentle, but the way his gaze slid over her face wasn’t. Her lips parted slightly, a small tremor escaping through her breath.

“I’ll... try to remember that,” she whispered.

He nodded, pushing off the desk. As he passed her, his shoulder brushed hers lightly. “Do that.”

Her pulse didn’t settle until long after he left.

Later that day, Aria sat on the campus lawn with her laptop open and barely any focus on her screen. Mason dropped beside her, his grin lazy and confident.

“Hey, bookworm,” he said, tossing her an energy bar. “You looked serious in class earlier. You good?”

Aria blinked, startled from her thoughts. “Oh. Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” He smirked. “Then why do you look like you just got caught doing something wrong?”

She laughed softly. “Maybe because I sat near the front today. Makes me feel like I’m being watched.”

“By Draven?” Mason teased. “Careful. That man stares like he’s reading people’s souls. Probably knows all your secrets by now.”

The words made her throat tighten. “You think?”

“I know,” Mason said, leaning closer. “He barely looked at anyone else when he asked that question earlier. I thought he was going to invite you to lunch.”

Aria’s heart jumped, though she masked it with a shrug. “He’s just a professor. You’re imagining things.”

“Maybe. But if he ever crosses a line, I’ll remind him you’re taken.”

“Mason!”

“I mean taken to lunch by me,” he added quickly, grinning. “Relax. Unless you want it to mean more?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what you like about me.”

Aria smiled faintly, but her mind wasn’t really there. Mason’s words faded under the echo of Cassian’s earlier voice.

“Emotion is not weakness”.

She typed aimlessly, fingers tracing the phrase across her keyboard as if trying to capture what it meant.

That evening, she lingered outside the Literature department. Most of the offices were dark now, the hall quiet except for the faint hum of lights. She had no reason to be here. None that made sense.

She told herself she was waiting to ask about the essay again, but she knew better.

His office door was slightly open, a warm light spilling through. She hesitated before knocking gently.

“Come in,” he said.

She stepped inside. The scent of old books and coffee filled the space. He sat at his desk, pen in hand, sleeves rolled up again. His eyes lifted immediately to her.

“Miss Vale,” he said quietly. “You’re here late.”

“I wanted to drop off my essay draft,” she lied.

He leaned back in his chair. “You could have emailed it.”

“I thought you might have notes to give directly.”

His gaze held hers for a long moment. Then he gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

She obeyed, her heart hammering.

“Show me,” he said.

She handed him the pages. He read silently for a while, and she couldn’t stop watching the way his fingers moved, steady, elegant, deliberate. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable.

“You write with instinct,” he said softly. “It’s raw, emotional, sometimes unrestrained. That’s what makes it good.”

Aria blinked. “Thank you.”

“But there’s a danger in that too.”

“What danger?”

He stood, coming around the desk. Her breath hitched as he leaned a hand on the edge beside her chair, too close.

“When you write from emotion, it consumes you. You stop observing and start feeling. You stop being in control.”

Her pulse stuttered. “Is that... always bad?”

His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Sometimes.”

The air between them thickened, their silence louder than words. She didn’t move. Neither did he.

The clock ticked softly.

She felt the warmth of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint brush of his sleeve near her arm. It would take only a single movement for them to cross the line, one that both of them pretended not to see.

“I should go,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, though his voice was lower now, almost rough. “You should.”

But she didn’t move.

He straightened slowly, stepping back just enough to breathe again.

“Good night, Miss Vale.”

Her legs felt weak when she finally stood. “Good night, Professor.”

She turned for the door, but before she could open it, his voice came again.

“Aria,” he said quietly.

She froze. The way he said her first name, there was something about it that made her shiver.

When she looked back, he was still by his desk, hands clenched at his sides, expression torn between restraint and something darker.

“I’ve said this before, be careful what you start,” he said.

Her heart skipped. “What do you mean?”

“Curiosity has consequences.”

She wanted to ask more, but his gaze silenced her. She left before she lost her nerve, closing the door behind her.

Outside, the hallway felt colder, emptier. She leaned against the wall, clutching her notebook to her chest, trying to steady the storm in her chest.

But then her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number again: He’s not who you think he is.

Her fingers trembled around the screen as she stared at the message, the echo of his voice still in her head. She was getting the same message again.