The afternoon light spilled through the glass walls of the Humanities building, painting the hallways in faint gold. Sierra clutched her notebook as she walked beside Tanya and Chloe, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor.
"I still can't believe we're meeting him," Chloe whispered, half-smiling. "Do you think he's strict during office hours?"
Sierra shook her head, her tone thoughtful. "No. I think he's just... focused. You know, one of those people who expects you to match their calm energy."
Tanya chuckled. "Well, that rules me out."
They reached his office door—Room 214. The frosted glass had his name neatly printed across it: Professor L. Blackwood — Department of Behavioral Studies. Sierra hesitated for half a second before knocking.
"Come in," came his voice, quiet but clear.
The door opened to reveal a small, neat space filled with books and soft light. Papers were stacked with precision, and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. He looked up from his laptop as they entered, offering a small, polite smile.
"Good afternoon," he said. "You're early. That's a good sign."
Sierra smiled back, trying not to sound too nervous. "We thought it'd be better to come before it gets crowded."
He nodded, motioning toward the seats in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."
The three girls sat down, placing their notes between them. Sierra noticed the faint hum of the air conditioning, the quiet tick of the wall clock, the calmness that seemed to fill every corner of his office.
"So," he began, folding his hands. "Tell me what direction you've chosen for your project."
Tanya spoke first, explaining their concept about online authenticity and the power of perception. As she talked, Sierra kept her eyes on her notes, but her attention flickered back to him every now and then—the way he listened, his focus, the faint crease between his brows as he thought.
When Tanya finished, he leaned back slightly. "That's a solid topic," he said. "But I'd like you to think about why people believe what they see online. What psychological needs does it satisfy?"
Sierra looked up, her curiosity lighting instantly. "Like the need to feel connected? Or to be part of something bigger?"
He glanced at her, clearly pleased by the question. "Exactly. You're thinking critically. Try to explore that. It's where your paper will stand out."
Her pulse quickened under the calm weight of his gaze. "Thank you," she murmured, jotting it down quickly.
The discussion went on for nearly thirty minutes, their ideas evolving with every word. Yet every so often, Sierra found herself noticing smaller things—the quiet tap of his pen, the faint warmth in his voice when he explained something, the steady rhythm of his breathing when he paused to think.
When the meeting finally ended, Chloe stretched. "This was actually fun," she said. "You make complex stuff sound easy, Professor."
He smiled faintly. "That's the goal."
As they gathered their things, he turned to Sierra. "You had a good set of observations," he said. "If you want, you can email me your notes later. I'll give some feedback before you finalize your outline."
Sierra nodded, trying to sound composed. "I'll do that tonight."
"Good."
When they left the office, Tanya let out a dramatic sigh. "Okay, I officially understand why everyone likes his classes."
Chloe laughed. "He's smart, calm, and looks like he stepped out of a book cover. What's not to like?"
Sierra didn't say anything. She just smiled faintly, tucking her notebook against her chest. Her mind wasn't on what he looked like—it was on the way his words stayed with her long after he said them.
That evening, she sat by her window as the sky turned lavender, typing out her notes to send him. Each paragraph she wrote reminded her of something from that meeting—the sound of his voice, the way he leaned slightly forward when listening, the faint kindness in his tone when she spoke.
When she finally hit send, she leaned back in her chair, exhaling softly.
Far across campus, in his dimly lit office, Professor Blackwood glanced at the new email notification on his screen. Her name appeared beside the subject line.
He opened it. Read through every word slowly.
By the time he reached the end, a quiet smile touched his lips.
She thought deeply. She noticed details. She cared about learning.
And though he knew it was just a student's email—just words on a glowing screen—it lingered in his mind long after the lights went out in the building.