Heat crawled up the back of my neck as I slid into my seat. I adjusted the strap of my bag with unnecessary care, buying seconds to breathe before I answered.
“I—”
“Don’t even try to say you were busy,” Aster interrupted, her brows arching, her voice softer now but no less insistent. “Gwen and I were this close to driving over to your apartment just to make sure you were alive.”
I exhaled slowly, choosing my words with care. “I was just… tired,” I said finally, my voice controlled, each word chosen to sound composed. “After the symposium, I needed rest. I turned my phone off. That’s all.”
Aster frowned, unconvinced. “You, disappearing for an entire day without telling us? That’s not you.” She leaned closer, her voice softening but no less piercing. “If you needed time, you could’ve just said so. Instead, we spent half of Sunday imagining you had fallen off the face of the earth.”
Guilt tightened in my chest. She was right, I never disappeared, never left questions unanswered. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not about Hayden. Not about the fact that I was fucking my professor. Not about the way Saturday had blurred into Sunday, about the way his presence still clung to me even now, walking into his hall with rain dripping from my coat.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, meeting her gaze only for a second before lowering my eyes to my notebook. “It won’t happen again.”
Aster studied me for a long, searching moment, as if she could pry the truth from the cracks in my voice. Finally, with a sigh that carried equal parts frustration and relief, she opened her own notebook.
“It better not,” she muttered, her tone subdued but still carrying weight. “You don’t get to vanish on us like that, Edwina.”
I pretended to focus on my notes, my pen hovering above the paper. Outside, the rain continued its unbroken fall, soft against the windows, relentless against the silence in my chest. And though I forced my expression into calm, my thoughts were already elsewhere, back in the dim quiet of the weekend, where exhaustion hadn’t been the only reason I turned off my phone. I was bent over my notebook, trying to anchor myself in the comfort of blank lines, when the timbre of a familiar voice pulled me upright.
“No wonder everyone’s been talking about you.”
I looked up. Noah.
He stood at the end of my desk, hands casually tucked into his pockets, a self-assured smile curving across his face. His presence carried the kind of confidence that drew attention without effort; a few students near the back had already turned their heads, watching.
“Word is you made quite an impression at the symposium,” he said, leaning a little closer, his voice pitched just enough that only I could hear. “Congratulations, Edwina. You’ve earned it.”
Before I could respond, his hand lifted and caught a loose strand of hair that had fallen over my shoulder. He twirled it lazily around his finger, holding it there as though testing how far he could push without protest.
“You should let someone celebrate you properly,” he murmured, his grin deepening. “How about a coffee with me this afternoon? Just the two of us.”
My breath stalled. His words fell with a confidence that assumed agreement, his tone more declaration than invitation. Around us, the chatter seemed to dull, curious glances cutting toward where he stood so casually at my desk, my hair coiled between his fingers. The touch sent an unwanted shiver down my spine, not of attraction, but of awareness. Of being seen.Of how easily this could be misread. I forced a small smile, searching for a gentle way to decline.
“That’s kind of you, Noah, but—”
“Come on,” he cut in smoothly, still twirling the strand of hair as if it were his. “After all the work you’ve done, you deserve a little distraction. One cup, that’s all I’m asking. Unless…” His grin widened as his gaze flicked briefly down and back up again, bold and unashamed. “…you’re afraid you might actually enjoy yourself.”
My lips parted, a protest ready, but his confidence was relentless.
“You always look so serious,” he went on, lowering his voice, leaning closer until I could smell the faint trace of cologne on his jacket. “You’re always so focused, so untouchable,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone. “But I can tell there’s a part of you that wants to loosen up. One coffee, a little conversation—that’s all I’m asking. Maybe I’ll even get to hear you laugh.”
Aster nudged me sharply with her elbow, making me jolt. “Oh my God, just say yes,” she whispered, grinning at me in amusement. “It’s coffee, not marriage. You need to stop hiding in that apartment of yours and actually live a little.”
Heat pricked at my cheeks. I opened my mouth again, trying to find a careful way out, but Noah didn’t wait. His finger trailed the length of the strand he held before letting it slip free, his knuckles grazing against my collarbone as he withdrew his hand.
“See? Even Aster agrees,” he said, his grin turning playful, almost conspiratorial. “Don’t tell me you’d rather spend your afternoon buried in books than with me.”
The words hung between us, weighted with suggestion, pressing me into a corner I didn’t want to be in. I parted my lips, ready to decline more firmly, ready to cut through his charm with finality—
And then I heard it. A throat cleared.
A single sound pierced through the chatter, intentional and sharp, impossible to ignore. It silenced the room more effectively than any command, carrying a weight that turned idle voices to whispers and whispers to nothing at all. I froze. My pulse leapt, wild and betraying, before I even looked toward the source.
Hayden stood a few rows away, his tall frame casting a shadow across the aisle. His expression was unreadable, every feature schooled into composure, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were fixed on us with a heat that made the air feel heavier, tighter, impossible to breathe in. The thin frames of his glasses caught the light as he tilted his head, a glint that made him look all the more severe, as though he were studying not the classroom but me, dissecting every breath, every tremor.
The sound of his interruption reverberated louder than any words could have. It was more than a sound, it was a warning, a claim, a promise etched into the quiet, thrumming with the weight of everything left unsaid. Noah let the strand of my hair slip free, though he didn’t step back, his grin only faltering for a heartbeat before recovering its casual ease. I cleared my throat softly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s already time for class,” I said, turning slightly toward him, hoping to end it here.
Noah chuckled under his breath, unbothered, leaning back a fraction with an easy shrug. “Alright, I won’t push.” His grin widened again, unshaken. “You have my number. Let’s talk.” He gave a small wink before stepping back. The moment lingered, smoke refusing to dissipate.
