The week unfolded slowly, each day carrying a new rhythm. Sierra found herself settling deeper into her classes, her notebook filling with neat handwriting and highlighted thoughts. But no matter what lecture she sat in, no matter how many new topics were introduced, her mind always seemed to drift—back to him.
Professor Blackwood.
Even when she wasn't in his class, the memory of his calm voice lingered in her mind. The way he paused thoughtfully before speaking, the quiet authority in his tone, the gentle intensity in his eyes—it all stayed with her.
By Wednesday morning, Sierra's heart fluttered with quiet anticipation as she stepped into the lecture hall. She tried to act normal—just another student taking her seat—but inside, she could already feel her pulse picking up.
He entered the room a few minutes later, carrying a stack of notes. His shirt sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows, his tie slightly loosened as though he had been working since dawn. There was a soft murmur across the hall, but Sierra barely heard it. Her focus was fixed entirely on him.
"Good morning, everyone," he began, voice even and calm as ever. "Today we're going to discuss persuasion in modern communication. How language shapes belief. How tone can influence trust."
He glanced briefly around the class, his gaze landing momentarily on Sierra. It wasn't long—barely a second—but she felt it. A flicker of acknowledgment that sent warmth rushing to her cheeks.
She quickly looked down at her notebook, pretending to adjust her pen.
The lecture continued. He spoke clearly, his words smooth and deliberate, the kind of tone that made every student listen closely without realizing they were holding their breath. Occasionally, he'd pace slowly, hands tucked into his pockets as he explained key points. Sierra followed every movement unconsciously.
When he asked questions, she tried to focus on the lesson, but every time his eyes scanned the room, she found herself wishing—just a little—that he'd call on her again.
And then he did.
"Sierra," he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual, as though testing her attention.
Her head snapped up. "Yes, Professor?"
He tilted his head slightly. "What do you think defines trust in communication? Is it the message itself, or the way it's delivered?"
Her throat felt dry. "Um… I think it's both," she began slowly. "But maybe… maybe the way it's delivered matters more. Because if people feel sincerity, they'll believe even difficult messages."
He watched her thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "Interesting. So you believe emotion has as much influence as logic?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I think… emotion connects people faster. Logic makes them stay, but emotion makes them listen."
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "A balanced answer. Very good."
The warmth that spread through her chest at those words was impossible to ignore. She looked back down quickly, pretending to fix her pen again, but her fingers trembled slightly.
For the rest of the lecture, she tried to focus purely on her notes. But each time she dared a glance upward, she'd catch him looking in her direction—never for long, always brief, subtle. Still, it was enough to make her heart race.
When the class ended, students began packing their bags noisily. Sierra stayed seated for a moment, letting the crowd thin out. She didn't know why she lingered—maybe it was habit now. Or maybe it was hope.
As she gathered her books, a familiar voice reached her from the front of the room. "Sierra."
Her head lifted immediately. Professor Blackwood was standing near the podium, sorting through papers, though his attention seemed directed toward her.
"Yes, Professor?" she asked, stepping closer.
"I read through the observations you submitted," he said. "You think deeply, which is good. But don't hesitate to challenge ideas—even mine. You have a sharp mind. Don't let politeness dull it."
Sierra blinked, taken aback. "I… I didn't want to sound rude."
He smiled faintly. "Questioning isn't rudeness. It's growth. I'd rather see you think boldly than hold back."
Her heart softened at his words. "I'll try," she said quietly. "I just… sometimes overthink things."
"Overthinking," he said gently, "often comes from caring too much. Which isn't a bad thing."
She stared at him, unsure how to respond. The way he said it felt different—like it carried meaning beyond the classroom. His tone was soft but certain, his eyes steady on hers.
For a brief, suspended moment, the world around them faded. Just the two of them—her heartbeat loud in her ears, his quiet gaze meeting hers with something she couldn't quite name.
Then, as if realizing the silence had stretched too long, he cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. "You'd better head to your next class," he said evenly. "And, Sierra… good work today."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you, Professor."
When she walked out, her friends were already waiting down the hallway. Tanya immediately looped her arm around her shoulder. "You stayed behind again, didn't you?"
Sierra tried to sound casual. "He was just giving me feedback, that's all."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Feedback. Sure."
Sierra laughed softly, shaking her head, but her heart still raced from that moment—those words, that look.
Later that night, as she studied in her dorm, she found herself replaying every little detail in her mind: his voice, the soft light in the classroom, the way he had said "good work."
And somewhere across campus, in his quiet office filled with papers and books, Professor Blackwood leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting toward the one student who had caught his attention more than he intended.
There was something about Sierra—something genuine, alive, unfiltered—that stirred something he hadn't felt in years. He told himself it was admiration for her intellect. Respect for her curiosity. Nothing more.
But as he looked at her name written neatly across the attendance sheet, a faint smile crossed his face before he could stop it.
This was dangerous ground, and he knew it. Yet he couldn't seem to stop himself from noticing her more than he should.