Page 33 of Damsel in Disguise

I open a new draft and begin composing the email carefully, each word chosen with intent.

I do not include any other student except her.

Time constraints alone justify the exclusion. So does merit. So does my stated interest in a specific analytical approach.

Any oversight committee would agree. Still, the truth is simpler. I’ve already chosen my suspect.

12. ASSISTANT

ariella

Miss. Keinston,

I’d like to discuss your approach to today’s problem set. Your performance so far places you among the strongest in the cohort, and I’m interested in your academic trajectory. If you have time after Wednesday’s lecture, visit me at my office.

Best regards,

Alistair Hertley

Senior Professor of EEE Department.

Oxford University

Oxford, England, UK

The email arrived at 14:17.

Exactly fifteen minutes after his last class ended.

I felt the vibration in my pocket while crossing into the garage, reaching for my bike, already angling my route not to intersect his, but reluctantly going home instead.

I ignored it at first—dismissed it as another useless group-chat ping.

So I drove to my apartment only to find a mail from him.

Both regret and a butterfly crashed over me.

Regret from not following after. Butterflies because… you know.

I read the mail once. Then again. And again and again. Until the words threaded themselves into my neurons and refused to let go.

Thank you. I’ll be there on time.

I bit back hard on my lips to stop a grin from breaking onto my face, chanting his name over and over again in my head.

In the end, I ran around the empty apartment, squeaking and screaming from excitement overload.

I’d call this decent progress.

Right now I’m walking after him. He didn’t remind me about the meeting during the class. He just looked at me directly over the rim of his glasses just as the class ended.

That look said it all. He’d read my reply email.

Ever since I’d read his email, the rest of the time passed with me unusually light on my feet til now.

When other students chattered about weekend plans and deadlines, I let my attention drift just enough to be in the present. But inside, I was already rehearsing. Not what I’ll say but what I won’t.

And now all I can do is watch him. The sway of his overcoat in the breeze. The unbroken line of his posture. The warmth of his smile as he greets people by their last name in the corridor.