(Lila's POV)
It was the beginning of a new semester. The campus buzzed with life this Monday morning. Students hurried past, books in hand, laughter echoing faintly across the courtyard. The air smelled fresh, sharp, and clean—matching my mood for the semester.
This time would be different.
Focus. Graduate quietly. No distractions.
"Lila!" Maya's voice cut through the noise. She jogged up beside me, curls bouncing.
"You look like you're walking into a death trap."
"Close," I muttered. "Advanced Literary Theories. They say the new professor's impossible to impress."
"You love a challenge."
"Not this one," I said, clutching my notebook tighter.
The lecture hall doors loomed ahead, wide and polished. I inhaled deeply and stepped inside. The room was already half-full—students chatting, laughter blending with the scraping of chairs.
"Maya, how's the house hunting going?" I asked. She'd been desperate to move out of the dorms since her roommate started dating a drummer who practiced at midnight.
"Not well," she sighed. "I have to move out soon and still haven't found a place."
"Someone just moved out of my building," I offered. "I spoke with the landlady—she said you can come look today."
"Oh, thank you, Lila! You're such a—"
The doors opened again. Conversation died instantly.
I turned—and froze.
A man walked in, tall and composed. His sharp features were softened by an air of quiet authority. He wore a black suit that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover, not in a classroom. A silver watch gleamed on his wrist.
"Good morning," he said, voice calm and deep. "I'm Professor Adrian Hale. Welcome to Advanced Literary Theories. I expect discipline, curiosity, and respect for the craft."
The new professor?
His tone wasn't harsh, but it commanded attention. Every gaze was locked on him. The silence that followed was heavy, expectant.
Then his eyes met mine.
Just for a second—but long enough. My chest tightened. His stare carried a weight that made me straighten instinctively.
Instant intimidation.
He looked away first, scanning the room again.
"We'll start with something simple," he continued. "Desire in forbidden relationships. Why do readers find it so captivating?"
Silence stretched. No one moved.
Before I could stop myself, my hand lifted.
His brows rose slightly. "Name?"
"Lila Bennett," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Go ahead, Miss Bennett."
"Because what we're told not to want becomes what we can't stop thinking about," I said. "In stories—and in life."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like a flicker of interest.
"Interesting answer," he said. "Thank you, Miss Bennett."
I exhaled slowly. Around me, pens scratched and pages turned, but all I could hear was my own pulse. He went on discussing texts and theories. The way he spoke had the kind of intensity that made every word sound deliberate.
But my focus was gone. Every time his tone dropped lower—thoughtful, commanding—it stirred something in me I didn't understand.
"Everyone," he said near the end of class, "write a short essay on the concept we discussed today. Due next week."
When the lecture ended, I stayed seated as others filed out. My pulse was still racing.
Maya leaned in. "So? What are your plans this semester?"
"Study. Stay out of trouble. Graduate," I replied, gathering my bag.
"Always studying. Great answer today, by the way. My bestie's a smart ass."
I laughed. "Maya, I told you to stop saying ass. It sounds weird coming from you."
"What's wrong with me saying ass, smart ass?"
"Okay, bye!" I said quickly, walking ahead.
"Wait up, little miss smart ass!"
After Literature, Maya and I headed to our next class—the one I never liked.
"Eyes open, Lila," Maya whispered.
"Sorry," I murmured, straightening in my seat. When I looked up, I caught Ethan Cross watching me from across the room. He grinned and pointed at my face.
Did I drool?
I pulled out my phone to check—nothing. I shot him a glare. He chuckled and turned away. I opened my notebook instead, starting lightly on Professor Hale's essay. Literature had always been my passion. Words spoke to me in ways people couldn't. Maya liked to call me the wife of William Shakespeare whenever we had literature projects. She wasn't wrong—I had a habit of falling too deep into words.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mrs. Hopkins said from the front, "welcome again to the new semester. See you next class."
As we stepped outside, his voice echoed in my mind.
Desire in forbidden relationships.
I swallowed hard. His face replayed in my head—young, handsome, unreadable.
"Wanna grab coffee?" Maya asked.
"Yeah, sure," I said. Maybe caffeine would clear my thoughts.
But as we walked to the coffee shop, my mind betrayed me again—his voice, his eyes, the flicker of something in them when I spoke.
I needed that coffee more than ever.