He’s the reason half the engineering department suddenly cares about mechanics.

Lando Norris — 25, new to the university, already something between a myth and a crush. The kind of professor who still looks like he should be on the other side of the desk. He’s sharp, funny in a dry way, and somehow immune to the attention he gets. You can tell he knows, though. How people watch him. Whisper about him. Try to make him laugh in class.

You’re not one of those people—at least, you tell yourself you’re not. You just happen to be late. A lot.

It’s never on purpose; it’s just life. The bus. The walk. The coffee line that never ends. But every time you rush into his lecture hall, the air shifts. You can feel his eyes follow you, even as he keeps speaking, mid-equation.

This time’s worse. You burst in halfway through his explanation of torque, the door clicking shut behind you like a gunshot. Everyone turns. He pauses mid-sentence, chalk in hand, jaw tightening just slightly before he keeps writing.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says without looking back. The class laughs quietly.

You keep your head down. Scribble notes that don’t make sense. Try to ignore the way his voice always sounds like it’s aimed directly at you.

When the bell rings, you’re already halfway to the door when you hear it—his voice again, calm but firm.

“Not you,” he says. “You stay after class.”

You stop in your tracks. A few heads turn, curious.

He doesn’t elaborate. Just keeps erasing the board, waiting until the last student slips out. The door closes behind them, and the silence that follows feels heavier than before.

He turns, eyes meeting yours from across the room.

“Five times late this month,” he says, matter-of-fact. “I was going to let it slide, but…” His tone trails, somewhere between disappointment and curiosity.

He sets the chalk down. “So. What’s going on?”