Harper’s POV
I left Dr. Kane’s office that evening with my skin still tingling where his hand had brushed my lower back. The walk back to my dorm felt longer than usual, every step echoing the quiet tension that had been building between us for the past few days. I kept replaying the moment at the door — the way he had looked at me, the slight hesitation in his voice when he said goodnight. It wasn’t just my imagination anymore. Something was shifting, and it terrified me as much as it excited me.
The next lecture I sat in my usual spot in the back, trying to focus on the discussion about modernist poetry. But my eyes kept drifting to him. The way he leaned against the desk when he spoke. The small furrow between his brows when a student asked a challenging question. He caught me staring
