The next morning came with a soft drizzle, the kind that made the air smell like fresh rain and earth. Sierra rushed across campus, holding her books tightly against her chest, her umbrella swaying with every step. She was late—again.
Her sneakers splashed through puddles as she hurried toward Professor Blackwood's lecture hall. When she finally slipped through the door, slightly breathless, most of the students were already seated.
"Sorry," she whispered quickly, ducking her head as she made her way to her usual seat beside Tanya.
Professor Blackwood looked up from his notes. "Try to be on time next class, Miss Rivera," he said calmly, though there was no edge to his voice—only quiet amusement in the way his eyes met hers for a fleeting second.
Sierra's heart skipped. "Yes, Professor," she murmured, cheeks warming as she slid into her seat.
Tanya leaned over, whispering, "Girl, you got caught by him. That's a record."
Sierra stifled a laugh, whispering back, "It's the rain! Totally not my fault."
"Sure, sure," Tanya teased under her breath, and the two giggled quietly before focusing back on the board.
Professor Blackwood continued his lecture, his tone even and smooth. "Today, we'll explore the power of perception in communication. The way people see you—your tone, your expressions, your presence—can influence how your message is received."
He began pacing slowly across the room as he spoke, his hands resting loosely in his pockets. Every few sentences, his gaze would drift toward the class, sweeping over the students, but it always seemed to find its way back to Sierra, even for the briefest moment.
Sierra noticed—but pretended not to. She kept her eyes down, doodling absentmindedly on her notebook, though she could feel the faint prickle of awareness whenever he looked her way.
When he turned to write on the board, Tanya leaned over again. "He totally looked at you," she whispered, barely containing her grin.
"What? No!" Sierra whispered back quickly, though her voice came out too high-pitched to sound convincing.
Tanya smirked. "He did. Twice."
Sierra rolled her eyes and tried to focus, but she couldn't ignore the small flutter in her chest. It was ridiculous—he was her lecturer. But the way he carried himself, calm and self-assured, the way his voice filled the room—it made her want to listen to every word.
Halfway through class, he asked, "What do you think happens when perception changes, but truth remains the same?"
Silence followed. No one raised their hand.
Sierra hesitated, then lifted hers slowly. "Maybe… people stop believing the truth," she said softly. "Because what they see feels more real than what they're told."
Professor Blackwood turned, his expression thoughtful. "Exactly," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "And that's what makes communication powerful—and dangerous. Well said, Sierra."
Her friends glanced at her, impressed, but Sierra barely noticed. Her heart was still beating fast from the way he'd said her name—steady, deliberate, as if it carried weight.
When class ended, students began packing their things quickly, the sound of zippers and chatter filling the air. Sierra took her time, slipping her notes into her bag carefully.
She told herself she wasn't waiting. But when most of the students had already left, she was still there, straightening her books.
Professor Blackwood looked up from his desk. "Still here?" he asked.
"Oh—yeah, sorry, I was just finishing up," she said quickly, her fingers fumbling with her notebook.
He closed his folder and stood, walking toward the front row where she sat. "You did well today," he said simply. "Your answer showed insight beyond surface understanding. You think deeper than most."
Sierra's breath caught slightly. "Thank you. I just… like thinking about the 'why' behind everything."
"That's a strength," he said quietly. "Don't lose it."
For a brief second, their eyes met again. The world outside the window blurred, the sound of rain soft against the glass. There was something unspoken in the air—a pause neither of them wanted to break.
Then his voice softened. "Go on, Sierra. You'll catch a cold in this weather."
She smiled faintly. "You too, Professor."
He nodded once, then turned away, his composure never faltering. But as Sierra stepped out into the rain again, she couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze had followed her one last time.
And somewhere behind the window, Professor Blackwood watched her umbrella disappear down the path, a faint smile ghosting across his lips before he forced himself to look away.
He told himself it was nothing. Just admiration. Just respect.
But the truth was harder to admit—
she had started to make him feel alive again.