(Lila's POV)
I knocked.
His voice came out, calm and deep — the same tone that filled the lecture hall. "Come in."
I walked in, my heart a mess.
His office smelled faintly of coffee and old books. Papers were stacked neatly on his table, and a shelf full of classics stood behind him. He gestured for me to sit, his eyes barely leaving the papers in front of him.
"You asked to see me, sir," I said, trying to steady my nerves. My heart was still hammering in my chest.
"Yes. Your essay… it's captivating. You write about desire as if you've lived it, Miss Bennett. Most students imitate theory. You don't."
I froze. Heat rose to my cheeks.
"I just… write what I feel."
"Exactly," he said quietly.
"I am intrigued, Miss Bennett. Tell me more," he said softly, his blue eyes peering at me as if he could see my soul.
"I wanted to explore emotion from the inside," I explained, choosing my words carefully. "Most analyses focus on form or context, but I think true literature isn't about what's written — it's about what it makes you feel. I tried to show that."
"Hmm. I like how you think."
He leaned forward. The scent of his cologne filled my nose — a mix of spice and something woody. I noticed the veins on his arms and his slender fingers as they drummed lightly on the table.
There was a moment of silence between us. His gaze lingered on me briefly before he blinked and sat back.
"You have potential," he said finally. "Don't let emotion cloud your discipline. But don't lose it either. It's what makes you different."
"Thank you, sir." I nodded, looking anywhere but his face.
"Why did you choose Literature?"
"I've always loved writing and reading since I was a child. It's my refuge," I replied. I wasn't looking at him; my eyes were fixed on the papers stacked neatly on his table. I couldn't bear to look into his eyes. There was something about his blue eyes that made my stomach flutter.
His tone softened. "Then don't stop. Even when it feels like no one understands it." His voice was different from the one he used in class.
"Thank you, sir," I said.
"Professor," he corrected gently.
Our eyes met again. It was brief but charged. I could almost see the tension in the air — thick as fog.
Then came a knock on the door.
He straightened immediately, his posture changing.
"We'll continue this another time, Miss Bennett."
I nodded and got up, my heart racing as I walked toward the door. When I opened it, I was faced with Dr. Vivian. She looked completely different from the previous semester — her long black hair was now a short bob, and her outfit had changed. Instead of her usual wide-legged pants and shirt, she wore a fitted corporate dress.
"Lila! How are you?" she smiled.
"I'm doing okay, Dr. Vivian. I love your new look."
"Thank you, Lila. Don't you have another class? Hurry now, we don't want you to be late."
I stepped away from the door and walked out. Ahead, just a few feet away from the office, stood Maya and Ethan. Ethan had been our friend since first year.
Maya asked, "How was your little meeting, Miss Smart Ass?"
"It was just there. He complimented my essay, that's all," I said, hoping my voice wouldn't betray me. Despite the encounter with Dr. Vivian, I was still a mess. My nerves were all over the place.
Just then, Ethan's phone rang, and he stepped aside to pick up.
"Excuse me, ladies, but I have to leave now. Something urgent came up," he said, pushing back the few strands of black hair that fell over his eyes. "Have a nice day, Lila." His brown eyes softened.
"Bye, Ethan," I said.
"I'll have a nice day too!" Maya called out as he walked off. She turned to me. "Did you see Dr. Vivian? What's with the new look?"
"I don't know, Maya. Sometimes it's nice to change how you look."
"Yeah, right. We could start by dyeing this mane of yours."
"No, this is the only thing I inherited from my mother. She'd kill me if I changed it." I laughed.
I looked nothing like my mother. My brother Elvis and I looked exactly like our father — same eyes, nose, lips — everything except for my hair. Elvis was my father's exact copy. My mother would always complain that she suffered carrying us for nine months only for us to come out looking exactly like our father.
"How do you manage to tame it?" Maya asked, twisting a loose strand on the side of my face.
I had curly red hair, quite wild.
"I use oil and water — it usually does the trick," I said as we walked towards our next class. For a moment I trailed off, my thoughts already tangled in the memory of his voice.
"Are you listening?" Maya asked, standing in front of me.
"Sorry, I was thinking about something."
"Okay, I was talking about Ethan. I think he likes you."
"Nah, he doesn't. We're friends, Maya."
"Okay, if you say so. I might be wrong."
But as Maya kept talking, my thoughts slipped again to his voice — calm, deep and impossible to ignore. My heart fluttered.
I told myself to stop thinking about him. Yet somehow, I couldn't.
Even in class, all I could think about were my Professor's blue eyes.