Chapter Three – Accidental Encounter
1092 Words
The sky gave no warning. It hung heavy and gray, the kind of gloom that made you think the rain might hold off forever. Then, without the slightest grace, it broke open. Water slammed against the stone courtyard, wild and merciless, sending students scattering in every direction. Laughter and startled cries tangled together as umbrellas snapped open, some turning inside out in the wind while others failed entirely. Within seconds, the campus was a blur of movement, chaos swallowed in the roar of the storm.
Students scattered in every direction, their shouts and laughter swallowed by the drumming of water against stone. Umbrellas bloomed like startled flowers, some snapping open in time, others turning inside out against the wind.
I wasn’t so lucky.
My own umbrella had died two semesters ago, its flimsy metal frame bent beyond repair after a windstorm. I’d never bothered to replace it. Now, pressed against the narrow trunk of a tree, I clutched my bag to my chest and prayed my notes wouldn’t drown. Rain pelted the leaves overhead, dripping through in icy splashes that ran down my neck.
Of course. Just my luck.
Across the courtyard, the library’s tall windows glowed like a sanctuary. But between me and its warmth stretched sheets of relentless rain. I could run, I thought. Make a sprint for it, sacrificing a few pages of notes for the comfort of dry air. My shoes would squelch the whole way through class, but at least I wouldn’t freeze.
I was calculating the distance when my eyes caught on a figure at the far edge of the courtyard.
Him.
Professor Adrian Blackwell.
Even with the storm raging, he looked untouched. His black umbrella cut a perfect circle of dry space around him, his suit immaculate as if the elements themselves had been warned not to dare approach. He didn’t rush like the students darting for cover. He stood still for a moment, scanning the courtyard with that predatory calm of his, before his gaze shifted—landing directly on me.
My chest tightened.
I told myself it was coincidence. That in this sea of frantic students, he hadn’t singled me out. But I knew better. His eyes were sharp and unyielding. And they were already locked on mine.
He started walking. Not toward the faculty building. Not toward the parking lot. Not even toward the library. Straight toward me.
My first instinct was to look away and pretend I hadn’t seen him. But what would be the point? Those eyes didn’t allow for pretending. They dragged you into their gravity, leaving you no choice but to acknowledge them.
He stopped in front of me, the storm battering around us, his umbrella steady overhead. “Miss Moore,” he said, voice calm, steady, and somehow untouched by the roar of the rain. “You’ll ruin your work standing here.”
“I’ll manage,” I muttered, clutching my bag tighter, as if my arms could shield it better than any umbrella.
His brow lifted the slightest fraction. That tiny lift of his brow said more than a hundred lectures. Under his gaze, my excuses shrank to nothing. Then, without a word, he tilted the umbrella, widening its shelter until I was inside it too.
The rain stopped beating against my shoulders.
I blinked up at him, startled. “You don’t have to—”
“I don’t recall asking what I had to do,” he cut in smoothly, his tone cool as ever. But something flickered in his eyes. Not softness—that word didn’t exist for him. More like curiosity, a sliver of something unspoken.
I couldn’t argue. Not with him. So I fell silent, stepping closer without meaning to, drawn into the protection of his umbrella. Together, we started walking.
The courtyard stretched before us like a battlefield of puddles. Students still darted between buildings, shrieking as the rain soaked their hair and clothes. But inside our small circle of shelter, there was only the rhythmic tap of water on canvas and the too-loud pounding of my heart.
I told myself to speak, to fill the silence with something neutral. But all I could think about was how close he was. His arm brushed mine once, and the accidental contact sent sparks skittering over my skin. My throat felt tight, my mind useless.
Finally, words stumbled out. “Do you always memorize your students’ names, Professor?”
His lips curved slightly. Not a smile—he never smiled—but something that might have been amusement. “Only the ones worth remembering.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it. Was that a compliment? A warning? Both? I hated that I couldn’t tell.
The library steps loomed ahead far too quickly. I wanted the walk to stretch longer, absurd as that sounded. I wanted more of this impossible closeness, even if it made me nervous, even if it made no sense.
He stopped at the entrance, his hand still steady on the umbrella. I turned to thank him, but the words caught when I realized just how close we stood. Inches. I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the drops of rain clinging to his dark hair, and the way his lashes curled under the storm’s mist.
His voice dropped low, almost intimate in the hush of the rain. “Don’t mistake courtesy for familiarity, Miss Moore. What happens here stays here. In class, you’re just another student.”
The words stung. They were meant to sting. But beneath their precision, I heard something else—a hesitation, maybe even a crack in the flawless wall he built around himself.
Before I could reply, he pressed the umbrella into my hand. His fingers brushed mine for a fleeting second, enough to make my pulse stumble.
“Return it tomorrow,” he said simply. Then he turned, striding back into the storm as if the world parted for him, leaving me at the library steps with his umbrella clutched tightly in my hand.
I stood there, drenched and unsteady, the storm breaking around me. My heart pounded—not from the rain, not from the chill, but because of him.
The umbrella wasn’t just shelter. It felt like more than that—like a part of him I had no right to hold, proof that the walls he built around himself weren’t as unshakable as he wanted the world to believe.
As the rain continued to fall, one truth settled heavily inside me.
I was in trouble.
- Writer
