Page 4 of Damsel in Disguise

It has to be another thorough speech about how I’m still not ready to study abroad.

“Can it wait?”

“He already sent a car to drop you at the CynoTech HQ.”

“I was actually hoping to hear your answer,” somewhere in the middle, Professor Hertley’s voice cuts through.

I finally glance toward her.

“Don’t disturb me, I’m studying,” the words leave sharper than intended.

I’d rather do circuit-related maths for a whole night than hear my father lecture me the same shit for at least a hundredth time by now.

A very strange silence. Not inside my room, but inside my headphones. Professor Hertley is staring directly at the camera. Or rather, directly at me.

My stomach drops. No. No no no. Surely not.

A slow amused smile barely deepens into those dimples in his cheeks. “Right,” the corners of his mouth twitch. “I won’t disturb you anymore.”

My soul exits my body.

The chat explodes so quickly that I can barely read it.

Girl, your mic is on.

She’s cooked.

Professor heard that!!!

Who was that?

I slap my hand over my mouth. Horrified realization crashes into me.

My microphone is still on until I finally turn it off faster than the blink of an eye. I might’ve turned off the camera, but I forgot to mute it before joining.

Oh my God. I should’ve paid more attention—he was actually talking to me.

Instead of the fact that he was paying me full attention, mortification crashes over me in violent waves. Someone kill me.

Meanwhile Mom looks completely unimpressed by the fact that I’ve just experienced social death in front of several hundred thousands of people.

“Get ready after the lecture,” Mom says.

I bury my face in my hands. “Please leave.”

And she does.

Meanwhile, professor Hertley calmly turns back toward the board as if he didn’t just witness the most humiliating moment of my entire existence.

“The answer is that the reactive component dominates the impedance at higher frequencies,” he says, resuming the lecture.

And just like that, he moves on.

No special attention. No follow-up. No acknowledgement.

To him, it might be just five seconds of awkward interaction. To me, it’ll haunt my dreams for years.

2. OXFORD