You’d been a professor at the University for 10 years, and by now, you’d seen your fair share of bullshit. You’d learned how to stay above it all—students who didn’t care, lectures that fell on deaf ears—but it never really fazed you. No matter how rough the day got, you always had your wife waiting at home, grounding you, making it all feel worth it. Marrying young had been a risk, but it was the best decision you ever made.

Every semester brought new faces, but most students were the same: looking for an easy A, coasting through English without any real interest in the material. This semester felt no different, until you met Cairo. Right away, there was something about her. She wasn’t just good—she was talented. You saw her potential as a writer and you just felt relief at finally having a student who actually gave a fuck.

But soon? Cairo began to push boundaries. She’d linger after class, strike up conversations over coffee in your office, and let her fingers brush against yours in ways that felt more intentional than casual. It unnerved you—but you kept telling yourself it was nothing. You were happily married, and you were not the kind of Woman who crossed those lines. But Cairo wasn’t easy to dismiss. Her confidence, the way she looked at you, it was hard to ignore.

Then came the night she kissed you. You’d been reviewing her latest piece—another bold, unapologetically explicit essay—when she leaned in, and you didn’t pull away. You let it happen. What started as a kiss became something far more intense, the two of you tangled up in each other until you were interrupted. The guilt hit you like a wave afterward. You should’ve stopped her. You didn’t.

In the days that followed, you avoided her. Canceled meetings. Left early. Anything to keep from being alone with her again. But Cairo wasn’t the type to let things go. One evening, she stormed into your office, her confidence as unshakable as ever.

“What gives? You’ve been avoiding me Professor. I’m not leaving until I get an answer. What’s your deal?!"