Dark circles have now become a part of my daily look. If anyone sees me without them, they get surprised—like I don't even look like myself.
So once again, I didn't sleep last night. Nothing new, I know. But this time, the reason wasn't my parents or my book addiction.
This time, the reason is my dearest reasoning teacher, Professor Windermare.
So I don't know the how, the why, and the what of last night's very unnecessary dream about him. But seriously—WHY HIM?! Did my brain run out of characters or what?!
I've read over 50 books, so I have a whole VIP lineup of dream-worthy characters. If that wasn't enough, I have anime boys and even my K-pop idols ready to make a grand entrance. So WHY HIM?! Did my brain roll a dice and land on "professor edition"?!
As I descended the stairs, the aroma of breakfast greeted me before I even reached the kitchen. There stood my mother, busy with her morning routine. I hadn't eaten anything yesterday, and with my father absent today, there was no justifiable excuse to skip a meal.
"Good morning, Mamma," I greeted her softly, settling into my seat at the table.
"Good morning, Lori," she said with a gentle smile, placing a plate of breakfast in front of me.
The moment my eyes landed on it, a wide grin spread across my face. Blueberry waffles. Oh, dear lord! Since when did the universe start being this generous to me? What's the catch?!
"Thank you, Mamma," I mumbled before stuffing my mouth with food.
Ah, nothing in life beats this—A peaceful morning, no toxic people ruining my mood, a loving mother, perfect weather, and a plate of delicious breakfast. Honestly, what more could I even ask for? World peace? A billion dollars? Nah, this is peak happiness.
Mom settled into the chair across from me, cradling a warm cup of coffee in her hands. As she watched me devour my food like I hadn't eaten in weeks, an amused smile played on her lips.
"Why do you always eat like a little kid?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I paused for a split second—just enough to flash her a cheeky grin before shoving another bite into my mouth.
"Because your cooking is so ridiculously delicious that all my manners pack their bags and leave the moment I take a bite."
She burst into laughter, the sound filling the room like a warm melody. I paused mid-bite, just watching her. God, it felt so good to see her laugh like that. It had been so long since I last saw her genuinely happy.
If only that monster had never been a part of our lives—maybe then, she could always be this carefree. Maybe then, we could always be this happy.
My eyes drifted to her bandaged hand, and just like that, my smile vanished. A heavy weight settled in my chest—concern, guilt, frustration, all tangled together.
Slowly, I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against her bruised skin. The cuts were still fresh, still raw. A painful reminder of everything she had been enduring.
"Why, Mamma?" My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Why do you keep enduring this? What are you holding on for? Why can't we escape this hell? I'm not a child anymore—I know we can figure out a way to survive without him. So why can't you take that step? Why can't you choose yourself for once? Why can't you let go, Mamma?"
She gave me a small smile, one that tried to mask the ocean of pain she carried inside.
"No, sweetheart, don't say that," she murmured, her voice laced with quiet resignation. "I loved that man. Maybe he's lost himself in his pride and arrogance, but I know he'll come back. One day, he'll realize his mistakes. He'll return to the man he once was."
I stared at her, disbelief tightening around my chest like a vice.
How?
How could she still hold on to such a lie after everything he had done? How could she still nurture hope for a man who had only given her scars in return?
"And leaving just like that isn't the solution, is it?" she said softly. "I have you. You have this life, this security… something I could never give you on my own. I don't want you to lack anything in life. Stand on your own feet, become successful… and then, trust me, no one will be happier than me."
Her words were meant to be reassuring, but all they did was tighten the knot in my chest. Why did her happiness always have to come at the cost of her own suffering?
My eyes filled with tears. How could a person be this selfless? How could she keep giving and giving, expecting nothing in return?
A lump formed in my throat as a single thought consumed me—how much longer?
How much longer until I finish my studies, get a good job, and finally pull her out of this hell?
I didn't say anything. My throat was too tight, my heart too heavy. Words wouldn't change anything—they never did.
Instead, I silently finished my food, stood up, and walked over to her. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I could, as if I could somehow shield her from all the pain she refused to acknowledge.
"Love you so much, Mamma," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I promise… this life won't last forever. I will change it. Just hold on a little longer."
For a moment, she didn't move. Then, she pulled me closer, her arms encircling me with the same warmth that had always been my safest place. She pressed a kiss to my forehead, lingering just long enough for me to feel the silent emotions she wouldn't say out loud.
"Love you too, sweetheart," she murmured, her voice gentle yet laced with a sadness I wished I could erase. Then, pulling back just slightly, she gave me a small smile and playfully nudged my arm. "Now, be quick! Get to school before you're late."
I forced a small smile in return, but as I stepped away, a silent promise echoed in my heart—One day, I'll make sure you never have to say those words with sadness again.
Stepping outside, I took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. The morning felt different—lighter, almost hopeful.
"Today feels like it's going to be a good day," I whispered to myself, as if saying it out loud would make it true.
Finally, I stepped into the school building, greeted by the usual chaos—students chattering, laughing, running around like they had unlimited energy. Ignoring the noise, I weaved through the crowd and made my way to my classroom.
The moment I sat down, I noticed something strange. Silence.
All eyes were on me, pure shock plastered across my classmates' faces. Before I could question it, a tap on my shoulder made me turn. One of my classmates smirked at me.
"What's the occasion, Lorenza? You're early. Did the sun forget to rise today or something?"
I let out a small chuckle and shot back, "The sun's up just fine, so don't talk too much—otherwise, you might not be in a condition to see it anymore."
My classmate gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like I had just delivered a fatal blow. The others burst into laughter, the tension breaking instantly.
Then, my best friend Eve strolled in, casually sipping from a juice can like she owned the place. She spotted me and raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Yo, Lori! Good to see you in the early morning for once. Are you finally thinking about getting your life together?"
She took another sip, waiting for my response, while the others chuckled in agreement.
Before I could clap back, Professor Windermare strode into the room, and the class instantly fell into silence.
I leaned toward Eve and whispered, "Lucky you—the professor just saved your ass today, you little gremlin."
Eve, completely unfazed, wiggled her eyebrows at me and stuck her tongue out like a five-year-old before dramatically sipping her juice, as if she had just won a battle.
But the moment my eyes met Professor Windermare's, every little detail of last night's very unnecessary dream came rushing back like a badly timed flashback.
Suddenly, my face felt like it was on fire. A weird rush of adrenaline shot through me, making my heartbeat go absolutely feral. My head spun, and for a split second, I genuinely considered passing out just to escape this humiliation.
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Me?!
I immediately glued my eyes to my desk, pretending it held the secrets of the universe. I can't look at him. Nope. Not happening. If I do, I'll 100% do something dumb and secure my spot as the CEO of Embarrassment.
And let's be honest—embarrassment and I have such a strong bond, even Shakespeare would've written a tragedy about us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Professor Windermare's face twist in confusion. Oh, fantastic. Just fantastic. He already figured out that I'm avoiding him.
HOW?! Do professors get some secret training in mind-reading? Is it part of their degree? Because this is straight-up witchcraft.
I mentally cursed myself in 2,972,628,393 different languages and forced myself to focus on the lesson.
But focus? What even is that? I wouldn't recognize it if it slapped me in the face. My brain was running on a completely different operating system—one that only played last night's embarrassing dream on repeat.
Nope. Not today. Mission: Avoid Professor Windermare is officially in action.
This man is a walking, talking mental disaster, and I refuse—REFUSE—to let my brain turn into mashed potatoes every time he so much as breathes. I've survived exams I didn't study for, awkward family gatherings, and the absolute betrayal of biting into a chocolate chip cookie only to find out it's raisin. I will not let a professor-induced mental breakdown be my downfall.
K E N D R I K
Did I do something? What did I do?! Because I swear on my WiFi connection, I have zero memory of committing any crimes.
Why isn't she even glancing at me? Yesterday, we talked just fine! Now she's acting like I'm an expired packet of chips—completely invisible and possibly dangerous to deal with.
Wait… is she embarrassed?
But WHY?! What did I do that could possibly make her feel embarrassed? Did I say something weird? Did I trip and fall in front of her? Did I accidentally confess my undying love in my sleep?
No. That last one definitely didn't happen… right?!
This is driving me insane. I feel like a confused golden retriever who got yelled at but has no idea what for.
The way she's avoiding eye contact today is different.
Usually, when I tease her, she gets all flustered, turns red like a tomato, and struggles to meet my gaze. But today? Nope.
Today, she's not just looking away—she's straight-up pretending I don't exist. Like I'm a tax she forgot to pay.
She's not blushing, not fidgeting—just full-on ignoring me.
And for WHAT?! What unspeakable crime have I committed in the past 24 hours to deserve this?!
I cleared my throat—fake coughed, obviously, just to get her attention.
Every single student in the room turned to look at me. Except her.
Huh?! What in the world is happening?
Is she mad at me? WHY? Were the cheesecake not good enough? Because yesterday, she was happily stuffing them into her mouth like it was her last meal on earth.
And now? Now she's acting like I personally committed a crime against her ancestors.
I started the class, but honestly? I was too distracted to teach properly.
After a moment of internal suffering, I sighed and said, "Your exams are near, so revise Chapter 5 & 8 today. If you have any doubts, come ask me."
And with that, I gracefully sat down, pretending this was all part of my plan.
But in reality? I was just waiting.
Because I know she has issues with Chapter 8. She's asked me questions about it in literally every class.
So no matter how hard she tries to ignore me—she'll have to come up to ask.
Right? Right?!
But nope… my instincts straight-up scammed me.
She didn't come.
Not once. Not even a pity glance in my direction. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
Meanwhile, I just sat there like a clown, fully convinced she'd march up with her usual "Sir, I don't get Chapter 8" face.
But did she?
NOPE.
At this point, I was questioning everything. Did she ever actually have doubts about Chapter 8? Was I hallucinating? Was this all a social experiment? Am I even real???
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
I let out a deep, dramatic sigh, finally accepting my defeat. With a heavy heart (and a bruised ego), I started packing up my stuff.
A bunch of students came over to clear their doubts, but did the one person I was waiting for show up?
NO.
What does this even mean?!
One by one, the students left. And then—it was her turn.
She stood up, gathered her things, and walked out with her friend.
And once again—SHE DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT ME.
At this point, I was ready to grab a mic and yell, "HELLO?! AM I INVISIBLE? DID I TURN INTO A GHOST OVERNIGHT?!"
This is definitely not the best day of my life.
And honestly? I have no idea why I'm making such a big deal out of this.
I mean, if my wife ignored me, I wouldn't even care—I'd just go about my day like nothing happened.
But her? This one student is not looking at me?!
Suddenly, I'm spiraling. Overthinking. Acting like I just got dumped in the middle of a dramatic romance movie.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
I had zero appetite.
So, to clear my mind, I headed to the library. I needed some books to prepare notes for my next class anyway.
It was lunch break, which meant—of course—no student in their right mind would willingly trade food for books. At least not in this school.
So here I was, peacefully alone, roaming through shelf after shelf, searching for reference books.
Finally—some quiet time. No distractions. No overthinking. Just me and my books.
…Or so I thought.
But just as I was pulling out a book, my eyes landed on something suspicious.
There, by the window—a familiar figure.
At first, I thought, Wow, someone actually chose books over food? Respect.
But then I looked closer.
The book in front of her? Completely ignored.
Because, of course—she was out cold.
Not just asleep—I mean, full-on passed out like a grandma after watching soap operas all day.
I took a closer look, and—of course.
Who else could it be? None other than our very own Miss Lorenza Floris.
My sweet little Miss.
Before I could stop myself, a smile crept onto my face.
There she was, curled up like a tiny gremlin, sleeping like she had no worries in the world.
Honestly? She looked so small and ridiculous like this that I had an overwhelming urge to just scoop her up, stuff her in my pocket, and carry her around everywhere.
I sat down, rested my chin on my hand, and stared—deeply. She looked like a sleeping angel, hair glowing in the sunlight, lips slightly parted… and then I saw it. The drool. Beautiful yet disgusting. Stunning yet tragic. God really does give his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.
I smirked and let my eyes wander to the book she was supposedly reading. Curiosity won. I picked it up, glanced at the cover, and—HOLY MOTHER OF PLOT TWISTS. My eyes widened so much I was afraid they'd pop out. GOD HELP ME, THIS IS WHAT SHE READS?! I was expecting a textbook, maybe a classic novel… but this? This was straight-up illegal in 47 countries.
The book name was " Whispers of Sin." Innocent enough, right? Not knowing what it was about, I quickly googled it for a summary. And oh, dear sweet merciful heavens. I did not expect the results.
This wasn't just any book. This was a famous smut novel. Not just any smut—the kind that could make a nun retire early. The writer?
Apparently renowned for crafting the darkest, dirtiest, most sinful smut
known to mankind.
I slowly looked back at sleeping, drooling, innocent-faced Lorenza.
"Sweetheart, what the hell goes on inside that head of yours?"
Whispering "just a tiny peek won't hurt" (knowing damn well I was lying), I slowly flipped to her bookmark. And yep—smut. What else did I expect? A Bible verse?
I read a line. Then another. Then five. Then an entire page. And before I knew it—FOUR.
WHOLE. PAGES. GONE. CONSUMED. DIGESTED.
I shut the book so fast I almost broke the sound barrier. WHAT IN THE NAME OF HOLY WATER DID I JUST READ?!
I glanced at Lorenza, still sleeping like a baby, drooling on the table—as if she didn't just corrupt my soul in broad daylight.
FOUR WHOLE PAGES. FOUR. Pages FILLED with the filthiest, most ungodly smut I had ever laid my eyes on. In all my years of being a teacher, I had never—NEVER—read anything like this.
And as if reading wasn't bad enough, my traitorous hormones decided to start doing the cha-cha. An unnecessary, completely uncalled-for boner. Because of a damn book.
This stupid thing really just pulled up uninvited like— "Surprise, motherf
Just as I was about to put the book back, I heard a soft groan. My head snapped up so fast I almost broke my neck.
Lorenza was waking up.
OH. HELL. NO.
My jaw? On the floor. My brain? Out of service. My entire existence?
Glitching.
HOW. DO. l. REACT?! I just read four pages of filth from her book, got a traitorous reaction, and now she's waking up RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME?!
LORENZA
I knew I'd run into Professor Windermare in the cafeteria. Teachers always sat together like some secret cult, and if I went there, I'd end up looking like a boiled tomato on steroids.
So, like the certified genius I am, I ditched lunch and fled to the library.
No awkward stares, no embarrassing face-melting moments—just me, my book, and the peaceful silence of pretending my life isn't a mess.
A+ decision, if you ask me.
But I have no freaking idea when I passed out. Seriously, afternoon naps are more addictive than any drug.
How the hell am I even sleeping like this? Bent over a rock-hard wooden table, in the most uncomfortable position known to mankind? My back is probably forming a whole new species of knots right now.
Honestly, only a creature like me could pull off something this ridiculous. A normal human? They'd be dead.
After a glorious 30-minute nap, I stretched like a satisfied cat and sat up
—only to get hit with a jump scare.
Why?
Because standing right in front of me, like a final boss battle, was none other than Professor Windermare. The very man I had been Olympic- level avoiding all day.
And this absolute menace wasn't just standing there—he was holding my book.
MY. FREAKING. BOOK.
If I wasn't fully awake before, I sure as hell was now.
Sleep? Gone. Vanished. Banished to another dimension.
I have never felt this awake in my entire life. If a gang of terrorists were chasing me down the street, I still wouldn't be this alert.
And the reason? Professor Freaking Windermare.
Standing there like the grim reaper of my dignity, holding my book, looking like he just discovered my deepest, darkest secrets.
Did he read it? No, no—he wouldn't dare.
...Wait.
My bookmark.
MY. DAMN. BOOKMARK.
Oh hell no.
He's looking at me like I just burned down an orphanage and did a victory dance on the ashes.
WHY? WHY THE JUDGMENTAL LOOK?
Sir, respectfully, look away before I pass out from sheer secondhand shame.
My soul is tap dancing on the edge of the afterlife, and this man is out here staring at me like
I just personally betrayed him and his ancestors.
Like HELLO?? I AM AWARE I READ FILTH. But did I ask for a TED Talk on my life choices through your disappointed father eyes?!?!
His eyes are screaming, "l never expected this from you."
Like, bro, what did you expect? That I sit at home reading the Bible and knitting sweaters
This is the real world, Professor. Girls read filth. We survive on dark romance, questionable morals, and men who exist only in fiction.
Yes, I admit, maybe it's not normal. But is it abnormal? Also no.
The shock and disappointment on his face is so clear, it might as well be a billboard ad.
Sir, control your emotions. You look like you just found out Santa isn't real.
My breath hitched as I watched him. His fingers lingered on the book's cover, tracing over the title like he was committing it to memory. A slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down my spine. His eyes—once filled with confusion—now held something else. Something unreadable.
Something dangerous.
The air between us grew thick, heavy, charged with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. My body stiffened as he exhaled, his gaze locking onto mine like a predator who just figured out its prey's deepest, dirtiest secrets. Damn it.
I clenched my thighs involuntarily, heat pooling low in my stomach. Why the hell does he look like that? Like he just discovered a whole new side of me and wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or entertained.
His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and I nearly lost my damn mind.
"I didn't take you for the. .. dark romance type, Miss Floris," he murmured, voice lower than usual, thick with amusement—no, something else. I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry, my skin too hot, my brain absolutely fucking useless.
Abort mission. Run. Escape. Jump out the goddamn window if necessary.
But all I did was sit there, trapped in his gaze, caught in a game I didn't even realize I was playing.
Then, as all limits blurred, all patience snapped, and all unspoken truths hung heavy in the air, he finally spoke—and a shiver tore through me.
That smirk on his lips was dangerous, sinful, yet utterly irresistible. His eyes, dark and intense, traced every inch of me, as if peeling away every layer of innocence I had left.
"My little miss isn't so little after all, "he murmured, his voice thick with something that made my stomach tighten.
He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over my skin, sending a wave of heat downm s ine. His fingers barel brushed mine, a fleeting, teasing touch that made my pulse stutter.
"She's been a bad girl.. ."His eyes burned into mine, amusement laced with something darker, deeper. "Reading such filthy things. How... interesting. "
The air between us crackled, heavy with something neither of us dared to name—but both of us felt.