Chapter 9
1117 Words
Luna slept for almost twenty hours straight.
The girls hovered like worried mother hens but never woke her. Aria tiptoed in every few hours to crack the window for fresh air. Layla left a glass of cold water and a note that said “We love you even when you’re snoring like a truck” on the bedside stool. Zara sat on the floor beside the couch for a while, quietly reading, just so Luna wouldn’t wake up alone.
When Luna finally stirred — eyes swollen, throat dry, body heavy — it was late evening.
They were ready.
A big bowl of steaming spaghetti with the exact spicy tomato sauce Luna loved was waiting. Aria had even added extra plantain slices on the side because “you need comfort carbs, babe.”
They hugged her all at once — tight, warm, no questions asked. Layla tried her best stand-up routine about their lecturer’s terrible wig. Aria danced around the room doing silly t****k moves. Zara just rubbed slow circles on her back and said, “Eat first. Talk when you’re ready.”
Luna ate three forkfuls, smiled a tiny, broken smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then pushed the bowl away.
“I’m tired,” she whispered.
They didn’t push. Just tucked her back in, turned the fairy lights to their softest glow, and let her sleep again.
But even in sleep, Ethan wouldn’t leave her alone.
She dreamed of his arms around her in that mansion bed — how he’d held her like she was breakable and precious at the same time. His scent on the black T-shirt she still hadn’t returned. The way his chest rose and fell under her cheek. The warmth of his skin when he’d pulled her closer after stopping himself.
Painful tears slipped from her closed eyes and soaked the pillow.
She woke with wet lashes and an ache so deep it felt permanent.
A week later she was still moving through campus like a ghost — dull eyes, quiet voice, fake smiles that fooled no one.
But she forced herself to attend class.
Mr. Adel, the lecturer who had taken over Ethan’s course, had suddenly fallen ill. The department sent a last-minute replacement.
Luna walked into the lecture hall feeling… something. A pull. A shiver down her spine. Like the air itself had changed.
She told herself it was just her mind playing tricks again.
She sat beside Zara in the middle row, opened her notebook, and tried to focus.
Then the door opened.
She felt him before she saw him.
The same way lovers in those old Indian films feel each other across crowded rooms — heartbeat syncing, skin tingling, world narrowing to one person.
His cologne hit her first — that clean cedar-and-soap scent that had once wrapped around her like safety and sin. Then the quiet click of his shoes on the tiled floor.
Luna looked up slowly.
Ethan stood at the front.
Tailored navy shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, same calm posture, same piercing blue eyes.
Their gazes locked.
Everything else disappeared.
The students, the whiteboard, the chatter — gone.
Just the two of them.
His eyes said *I never stopped thinking about you*.
Hers answered *I buried you and you still won*.
The moment stretched — heavy, electric, full of everything they couldn’t say.
Then a student in the front row dropped his pen. The loud clatter snapped the spell.
Zara leaned over, voice low. “Luna… is anything wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Luna blinked hard. “I’m fine.”
She wasn’t.
For the entire lecture she heard nothing but the memory of his husky voice saying “You’re so wet for me.” She saw nothing but the way his mouth had looked between her thighs. She felt nothing but the ghost of his fingers curling inside her, stopping right when she was about to break apart.
When the class finally ended, Luna and her friends were the last ones left.
She turned to them, voice steady even though her hands trembled.
“I need to speak with him. Alone. Please.”
Aria raised a brow but nodded. Layla squeezed her shoulder. Zara gave her a long look, then ushered the other two out.
The door closed softly behind them.
Ethan was packing his bag at the front. He looked up.
“Hi,” he said quietly. “How have you been?”
Luna walked down the aisle until only the lecturer’s desk separated them.
“I’ve been good, thank you.”
A beat of silence.
“I’ll ask you a few questions on today’s topic,” she said, “if that’s okay.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
They talked — surface-level, professional. But the air crackled.
Then Ethan set his pen down.
“Not to make this awkward… I’m sorry for what happened between us. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Luna’s throat tightened.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “I understand. It was a mistake. I was a little… tipsy. You probably were too.”
As he explained something about the lecture notes, their hands brushed — skin on skin.
The touch was accidental.
But it burned.
His fingers lingered half a second too long. Hers didn’t pull away.
Heat shot straight through her body. She felt it in her chest, her stomach, lower. His breath hitched. Her pulse thundered.
Their eyes met again — raw, desperate, full of every unsaid word and every almost-touch.
Ethan’s jaw clenched.
“f**k it,” he whispered.
He reached across the desk, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was deep. Intense. Raw.
His mouth claimed hers like he’d been starving for months. Tongue sliding against hers, hungry and possessive. One hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer over the desk. The other tangled in her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her deeper — harder — like he wanted to devour every sound she made.
Luna kissed him back just as fiercely.
A soft moan escaped her. Her fingers fisted his shirt. She tasted coffee and longing and the same desperate need that had kept her awake for weeks.
The kiss was messy. Urgent. Perfect.
They didn’t hear the door open.
Zara stood in the doorway with the Dean beside her.
“Professor Ethan, the Dean is looking for—”
They both froze.
The Dean’s eyes widened.
Zara’s mouth fell open.
Luna and Ethan pulled apart slowly, lips swollen, breathing ragged, foreheads still almost touching.
The entire world around them went numb.
Silence.
Then the Dean cleared his throat.
“Professor… my office. Now.”
- Writer
