The lecture lasted an hour, but it felt like five minutes. I didn't take any notes. I just watched Callum Finch move. He spoke about poetry with a passion that made the other students lean in, but I was only interested in the way he paced the floor. He was poised and confident, a man who knew exactly who he was.
When the bell rang, the room exploded with the sound of shuffling papers and moving chairs. I stayed still. I waited until the crowd thinned out before I stood up and walked down the stairs toward the front.
Callum was leaning over his desk, stuffing a stack of essays into his leather satchel. He looked up when I reached the edge of his desk, but his expression was just polite. He didn't look at me the way Vance did. He looked at me like I was just another name on a roster.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked. His voice was smooth and mature, the kind of voice that belonged to someone who had seen more of the world than I had.
"I didn't understand the last point," I whispered. I kept my voice soft and shaky, letting my hair fall over my face. "About the... the hidden meanings."
Callum stopped what he was doing and stood up straight. He was tall, but in a lean, athletic way. He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine. He wasn't smiling anymore, but he wasn't being mean either. He was just being professional.
"The subtext?" he asked, a small, knowing glint in his eye. "It's about what the characters want but aren't allowed to say. It's the hunger beneath the words."
"Oh," I breathed. I stepped a little closer, close enough to smell his peppermint tea. "I think I understand hunger."
I let the silence hang between us, waiting for him to react. I wanted him to look at my messy ribbons or notice the faint purple bruise peaking out from the collar of my shirt. I wanted him to be curious.
But Callum just nodded slowly. He didn't flinch, and he didn't lean in. He was a man, not a boy. He seemed to see right through my act, but he didn't call me out on it.
"Hunger is a common theme in literature, Blythe, right?" He said. He had looked at the seating chart; he knew my name. "But it's also a dangerous one. It can lead characters to make very poor decisions."
He zipped his bag shut and swung it over his shoulder. He checked his watch, a heavy, silver one that looked expensive.
"I have a meeting to get to," he said, giving me a final, brief nod. "But if you're still struggling with the material, my office hours are posted on the door. Feel free to stop by. Just make sure you bring your textbook next time."
He walked past me, his steps firm and even. He didn't look back.
I stood in the empty classroom, my heart hammering against my ribs. He hadn't fallen for it. He hadn't been charmed or distracted. He had treated me like a student, and it made me feel invisible in a way that stung.
It also made me want him more than anything.
Vance used my body, but Callum Finch was going to be much harder to handle. He was mature and steady, which meant breaking him would be so much sweeter. I stayed there for a long time, staring at the loopy letters of his name on the chalkboard until they started to blur.