Author pov
She tried to focus.
She really did.
But it was hard to concentrate on page 42 when the professor standing at the front of the room was the same man whose hands had been on her waist less than an hour ago.
"Can anyone solve this equation?"
His voice was calm. Controlled. Professional.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't leaned into her ear and whispered words that still sent chills down her spine.
No one raised their hand.
The classroom remained silent.
He sighed softly. "I expected better."
Then—
His eyes shifted.
Locked on her.
"You," he said.
Her stomach dropped.
"Stand up."
The entire class turned to look at her.
Her chair scraped against the floor as she slowly stood, clutching the edge of her desk for balance.
"Since you're new," he continued, walking slowly between the rows of desks, "let's see what kind of student you are."
Each step he took felt deliberate.
Measured.
Closer.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
He stopped right in front of her desk.
Too close.
"You transferred here with excellent grades," he said, glancing down at the file in his hand. "Impressive."
The class began whispering.
She could feel their curiosity.
The new girl.
Being questioned by the strict professor.
"If you're so impressive," he continued smoothly, "solve it."
Her mind blanked.
Not because she didn't know the answer.
But because he was standing inches away.
Watching her.
Waiting.
Challenging.
She swallowed and forced herself to look at the board.
Focus.
Numbers. Symbols. Logic.
Not his eyes.
Not his voice.
She walked to the board, picking up the marker with slightly trembling fingers. She could feel his gaze on her the entire time.
Every breath.
Every movement.
She solved the equation carefully, step by step.
When she finished, she placed the marker down and stepped back.
The room was quiet.
He walked forward, studying her solution.
Seconds passed.
Too many seconds.
Then—
"Correct."
A soft murmur spread through the class.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
But then he leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Seems like you don't just run into people," he murmured. "You're full of surprises."
Her breath hitched.
She dared to glance up at him.
And that's when she noticed—
Someone else was watching.
A girl from the second row.
Perfect hair. Confident posture. Eyes narrowed slightly.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Suspicious.
Her gaze flickered between them.
Noticing the proximity.
The tension.
The way neither of them looked away fast enough.
The girl's jaw tightened.
Ah.
So she wasn't the only one who saw it.
He stepped back, creating distance again, his expression turning cold and unreadable.
"You may sit down," he said formally.
Like he hadn't just spoken to her in that tone.
Like he wasn't the reason her heart was racing again.
She returned to her seat, trying to ignore the burning stare from the girl across the room.
And as the lesson continued, she realized something dangerous.
This wasn't just tension.
This wasn't just coincidence.
This was going to be complicated.
Finally after some time.
The bell rang.
The sharp sound echoed through the classroom, breaking whatever fragile control she had left.
Students immediately began packing their bags, chatter filling the room again.
She exhaled slowly.
Survived.
Barely.
She kept her head down as she slipped her books into her bag. If she avoided eye contact, maybe she could leave unnoticed.
"New girl."
Her movements froze.
The voice was sweet.
Too sweet.
She looked up.
It was the girl from the second row.
Up close, she was even more intimidating. Perfectly styled hair. Flawless makeup. Confident posture. The kind of girl who knew she owned the room.
"I'm maheen," she said, crossing her arms. "I've been in this school since kindergarten."
Translation?
This is my territory.
"I'm—"
"I know who you are," maheen cut in smoothly. "Transfer student. Top grades. Very impressive."
The way she said impressive made it sound like an insult.
Before she could respond, a shadow fell over them.
The room went quiet again.
Her breath caught.
He was still there.
Most of the students had already left, but he stood near his desk, watching.
Observing.
"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly.
Professor voice.
Cold. Detached.
Sara immediately smiled. "No, sir. I was just welcoming her."
Sir.
The word still felt strange.
His dark eyes shifted to her.
For a split second, something softened there.
Then it was gone.
"If you're done socialising," he said evenly, "you may leave. I have work to discuss with the new student."
Her heart stopped.
Work?
Sara's smile faltered for half a second.
"Of course, sir," she said, but her eyes flicked to her — sharp and warning.
This isn't over.
The classroom slowly emptied until it was just the two of them.
The silence felt heavier than before.
She gripped her bag strap nervously.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked softly.
The word slipped out again.
Sir.
He walked around the desk slowly.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just controlled.
When he stopped in front of her, there was no desk between them this time.
No students.
No witnesses.
"You shouldn't let people intimidate you," he said quietly.
She blinked. "I'm not intimidated."
One corner of his mouth lifted.
"There's that fire again."
Her pulse quickened.
"This is my first day," she whispered. "I don't want trouble."
His expression shifted slightly at that.
"You won't get any," he replied. Then, after a pause, "Not from me.", "not from others"
The way he said it made her stomach flip.
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
But close enough that she could feel his presence again.
"You need to understand something," he continued softly. "In this school, rumours spread fast."
Her throat tightened.
"And we wouldn't want anyone misunderstanding what happened in the corridor."
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
" it was an accident?" she said before she could stop herself.
His eyes darkened slightly.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then—
"Was it?" he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
The air between them felt charged.
Dangerous.
One more step and she would be trapped between him and the desk.
One more step and—
The classroom door suddenly opened.
Both of them stepped back instantly.
maheen stood there.
Watching.
Her expression unreadable.
"I forgot my notebook," she said slowly, eyes moving between them.
The tension snapped like a wire.
And just like that—
maheen didn't move.
She stood near the door, her notebook forgotten in her hand, eyes locked on the space between them.
The space that had just been much smaller.
The professor cleared his throat, his expression returning to its usual calm indifference.
"Take your notebook and leave, maheen."
His tone was firm.
Controlled.
maheen's gaze flickered to her — sharp, calculating — before she slowly walked to her desk and picked up her things.
But before leaving, she paused.
"You should be careful," she said sweetly, looking directly at the new girl. "Sir doesn't like being touched."
Touched.
The word hung in the air.
Confusion washed over her face.
Sara's lips curved slightly. "He's allergic."
And then she walked out.
The door closed.
Silence.
She blinked. "Allergic?"
He looked annoyed now.
Not at her.
At the situation.
"It's not something the students need to gossip about," he said flatly.
"Allergic to what?" she asked quietly.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Skin contact," he replied after a pause. "With women."
Her eyes widened.
"That's… a thing?"
"Yes."
He didn't elaborate.
Her mind raced back to the corridor.
His hands on her waist.
His fingers brushing hers when they picked up the book.
There had been no hesitation.
No discomfort.
No reaction.
"You caught me," she said slowly.
His gaze met hers.
Dark. Intense.
"I did."
"And you're… fine."
A beat of silence passed.
Too long.
"Usually," he said carefully, "direct contact causes a reaction. Rashes. Breathing difficulty. It's… inconvenient."
Usually.
The word echoed in her mind.
"But," she whispered, "you were holding me."
His eyes didn't leave hers.
"I know."
Her heart skipped.
"You don't react to maheen," she said, remembering the way Sara had said it. Confident. Almost proud.
He looked away briefly, as if choosing his words.
"maheen is a family friend. I've known her since childhood. The exposure lessened the reaction over time."
That explained her confidence.
Her closeness.
Her territorial behaviour.
"But you—" he stopped himself.
"But me?" she asked softly.
He stepped slightly closer again, studying her like she was something impossible.
"When I touched you," he said quietly, "I was expecting the usual reaction."
Her breath slowed.
"But there was nothing."
The air felt heavier.
Charged.
"So either," he continued, voice lower now, "my condition is changing…"
Or—
He didn't finish the sentence.
"Or what?" she whispered.
His eyes dropped briefly to her hands — the same hands that had clutched his blazer earlier.
Then back to her face.
"Or you're different."
Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it again.
"That doesn't make sense," she said, even though a small part of her liked the way it sounded.
"It doesn't," he agreed.
And yet…
He slowly lifted his hand.
Not touching.
Just hovering inches away from her wrist.
"May I?" he asked softly.
The question surprised her.
He was her professor.
Older. Controlled. Untouchable.
And yet he was asking.
She nodded before she could overthink it.
Slowly — cautiously — his fingers brushed against her skin.
A simple touch.
Barely there.
She felt warmth.
Nothing else.
He inhaled sharply.
But not in pain.
In shock.
His hand remained there.
No redness.
No struggle to breathe.
No reaction.
Just silence.
His dark eyes lifted to hers again.
"This isn't possible," he murmured.
And for the first time since she met him—
He looked shaken.
The air between them was still thick.
He was still staring. She was still trying not to melt under that gaze.
And then…
Sara lost it.
Her perfectly composed face faltered. Her hands gripped her notebook so tightly it bent.
It was too much.
She couldn't handle it.
The next moment, she was on her feet.
"I—uh—I should leave!" she stammered, her voice cracking slightly.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she fled toward the door.
The professor's head tilted slightly. "Sara?" he called calmly.
But she didn't stop.
The door slammed behind her, echoing through the hallway.
Out in the corridor, she leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. She felt like the world was spinning.
Her hands trembled as she gripped her notebook, trying to calm herself.
She couldn't stop thinking about her.
The way he looked at me. The way our fingers brushed. The warmth between them.
And the impossible part—he wasn't allergic. Not to her.
She started walking, almost running, toward her hostel.
Every step was filled with nervous energy, a mix of rage and confusion.
Sara didn't stop running until the grand gates of the girls' hostel came into view.
Her breath was uneven. Her heart? Completely out of control.
The corridor still echoed in her mind…
His voice.
His eyes.
The way he had stood so close.
Too close.
She pushed the hostel door open, her fingers trembling slightly as she climbed the stairs. The evening sun slipped through the tall windows, painting golden streaks across the white walls. Everything felt calm here.
Too calm compared to the storm inside her.
Room 212.
She paused outside, inhaled sharply, then unlocked the door.
The room smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry. Soft fairy lights were pinned across one wall. Two beds were already occupied — one messy with books scattered everywhere, the other perfectly arranged with pastel cushions.
"SARA!" a cheerful voice squealed.
That was Zainab.
Zainab, with her warm brown eyes and always-perfect braid, jumped off her bed dramatically. Meanwhile, Noor — soft-spoken, sweet Noor — peeked up from her novel, her glasses slipping down her nose.
"You're late," Noor said gently. "Orientation ended almost an hour ago."
"And your first day!" Zainab added, placing her hands on her hips. "Did you get lost? Did someone bully you? Did you faint? Wait — did you meet a cute senior?!"
Sara forced a smile.
If only they knew.
"I… just had some work," she replied, moving toward her bed and placing her bag down carefully, avoiding their eyes.
Zainab narrowed her gaze playfully. "Work? On the first day? Hmm. Suspicious."
Noor closed her book and sat up properly. "Sara, are you okay? You look pale."
Sara's fingers tightened around the bed sheetsea.
She remembered the classroom.
The way he had looked at her.
The way she had felt like the walls were closing in.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Just tired."
Zainab and Noor exchanged a look — the silent girl-code kind.
"You sure?" Noor asked softly.
Sara nodded, sitting down on her bed and facing the window so they wouldn't see the redness creeping up her cheeks.
She couldn't tell them.
How could she explain that the strict new mathematics professor…
The billionaire future chairman of the entire institution…
Was the same man she had collided with earlier?
The same man whose touch she could still feel burning on her skin?
And worse…
The same man who couldn't even touch any girl.
Except her.
Her heart thudded violently at the memory.
"Sara," Zainab's voice softened now. "If something happened, you can tell us."
Sara turned slightly, forcing another smile — the kind that hides more than it shows.
"Nothing happened," she whispered. "Really."
But inside?
Everything had happened.
And this was only her first day.
She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling as her roommates continued chatting softly about classes and teachers. Their voices slowly faded into background noise.
All she could see were his eyes.
All she could hear was his voice saying her name.
And for the first time since coming to this new school…
Sara wasn't afraid of failing mathematics.
She was afraid of feeling too much.
She buried her face in the pillow, trying to calm down.
Her heart still hammered.
Her mind was racing.