~Erica's POV~
Some people meet the love of their lives in loud, obvious ways.
I met mine on a morning I had already decided was cursed.
I've always walked like I was trying not to disturb the world.
My steps were careful, almost rehearsed, like I was afraid the ground might notice me too much. People noticed things like that. They noticed how I kept my shoulders straight even when I was tired, how my clothes were always neat, how my voice never rose above what was necessary.
They called it perfect.
Perfect posture. Perfect grades. Perfect silence.
But perfection makes people uncomfortable.
It makes them assume things. That I thought I was better than them. That I was cold. Untouchable. Too good to mix.
The truth was far less impressive.
I was shy. Deeply, painfully shy. I didn't know how to connect without feeling like I was intruding on someone else's space. So I stayed alone. I focused on my books. I let people misunderstand me because correcting them felt harder than being lonely.
That morning, loneliness followed me out of the house.
My father and I had argued again. Not loudly. We never raised our voices. His disappointment didn't need volume, it lived in pauses, in sighs, in the way he avoided looking at me when I didn't meet his expectations.
"You should stop distracting yourself with unnecessary thoughts," he said, eyes fixed on his coffee. "Focus on your studies. That's how you succeed."
I didn't argue back.
I never do.
By the time I reached campus, my chest felt tight, my breath uneven. I told myself it was just stress. Just another day. Just another lecture.
I was wrong.
The lecture hall doors were open when I arrived.
I stepped in...
...and instantly wished I hadn't.
The room was full. Every seat taken. Conversations died the moment I entered, like the air itself had shifted. I felt eyes on me, quick and curious, some already bored. I hated moments like this. Moments where I became visible when all I wanted was to disappear into the background.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice barely carrying.
Then I heard him.
"It's alright."
The voice was calm. Firm. Steady in a way that didn't demand attention but commanded it anyway. Like someone who didn't raise his voice because he never needed to.
I looked up.
He stood at the front of the hall, one hand resting on the desk, the other holding a marker. Tall. Composed. He looked like a man who had mastered patience and discipline, the kind who didn't waste words. His eyes met mine, and something in them sharpened, not curiosity, not judgment, but awareness.
"Take a seat," he said. "You didn't miss anything important."
I didn't believe him, but I nodded and moved quickly, heat rushing to my face. As I sat, I felt something strange settle over me, the feeling of being seen without being assessed. It was unsettling. Almost intimate.
"My name is Jackson Hale," he said, turning back to the board. "I'll be your lecturer this semester."
There was a ripple of reaction. New lecturers always caused that. Whispers. Side glances. Silent measuring.
I barely noticed.
I was too focused on the way he wrote his name, slow, deliberate strokes, like he believed names meant something.
As the lecture continued, something unexpected happened.
People listened.
Not the polite listening students did out of obligation, but real attention. Phones stayed down. Eyes stayed up. Even I forgot the argument, forgot the ache sitting in my chest.
When he asked a question, my hand moved before my fear could stop it.
The room went quiet.
He turned.
His eyes found me instantly.
"Yes?" he said.
My voice trembled just a little as I spoke. I hated that, but I finished anyway, forcing the words out.
When I was done, he nodded once. "That's a thoughtful perspective."
Two sentences.
That was all.
But my chest tightened like something fragile had been touched.
The lecture ended too quickly.
Students filed out, laughter returning, noise flooding the space again. I packed my things slowly, hoping to leave unnoticed.
"Erica."
My body froze.
"Wait a moment," he added calmly.
The room emptied. Chairs scraped. Doors closed. Suddenly, it was just us and the echo of a space that had held too many people moments ago.
He walked closer, stopping at a respectful distance.
"You don't need to look like you're in trouble," he said.
"I'm not," I replied quickly, then winced at how defensive it sounded.
A corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile, but close. "First days can feel overwhelming."
I nodded.
"You did well today," he continued. "And you don't need to be afraid to speak here. This room isn't a courtroom."
Something about the way he said that made my throat tighten.
He reached down and picked something up from the desk. "You dropped this."
My pen.
"Oh." I took it, our fingers brushing briefly. My pulse jumped without permission. "Thank you."
He nodded. "You're welcome."
The silence stretched.
This was the part where I should have left.
Instead, my mouth opened.
"I need a private tutor."
The words fell between us like something fragile and dangerous.
He blinked once.
"I mean," I rushed on, heart pounding, "I'd like one. And I was wondering if you... if you'd consider..."
He straightened slightly. "It's not part of my job to tutor university students privately."
The rejection stung immediately.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "That was too forward. I shouldn't have asked."
He studied me for a moment, not unkindly.
"I'm not offended," he said. "Your question tells me something."
I looked up.
"You take your education seriously," he continued. "And you're not afraid to ask for what you need. That's… rare."
My breath hitched.
"I'll think about it," he added. "You shouldn't worry too much."
"Thank you," I whispered.
He nodded once. "Take care, Erica."
He said my name like it mattered.
Outside, rain had begun to fall, soft and steady. I stood under the building's shade, watching the world blur, my reflection faint in the glass.
I didn't know then that this man would become my greatest comfort and my most dangerous mistake.
I didn't know about the lines I would cross, or the secret I would one day carry in my blood.
All I knew was this:
Some encounters feel like accidents.
But some… feel like consequences.
And I had just met mine.