THE LINE WE WEREN'T MEANT TO CROSS

*Chapter 7: After the Line*

I avoided his office for four days.

It wasn’t hard. Midterms were brutal, and I buried myself in the library from opening to closing. I told myself it was about the thesis. It was easier than admitting I was scared of what would happen if I saw him alone again.

He didn’t email. He didn’t stop me after class.

But he looked. Every lecture, his eyes found me in the back row, like he was making sure I was still there.

On Thursday, my laptop crashed during a run. Again.

The library was full. The computer lab closed at eight.

At 8:03 PM, I was standing outside his office.

The door was closed.

I knocked anyway.

“Come in.”

He looked surprised, then not. Like part of him had been expecting me to break first.

“You’re back,” he said.

“My data won’t save,” I said, holding up my USB like it was evidence. Professional. Safe.

“Sit down. Let’s look.”

We worked in silence for ten minutes. The same silence as before, but heavier now.

When it was fixed, I didn’t move to leave.

“Why did you stop coming?” he asked quietly.

I stared at my hands. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted.

The words hung there. No titles. No rules. Just two people in a quiet room at 8:47 PM.

“I can’t do this,” he said finally. “Not if it puts you at risk.”

My chest tightened. “What if I’m already past caring about the risk?”

He went still.

For a second, I thought he’d reach for me. He didn’t. He stood up instead and opened the door.

“Go home, Lena,” he said, his voice low. “We’ll talk about your thesis on Monday. In my office. With the door open.”

I walked out, my legs shaky.

He hadn’t said no.

And that felt worse than if he had.