“So, if you simplify this equation…”

His eyes scanned what you wrote on the board before glancing at your face—calm, sharp, and assessing.

“Good. You can start assisting me this semester.”

That was how it all began.

You became the assistant of Satria Darmawan—a young physics lecturer, only 29 years old, sharp-jawed, sharp-eyed, and, of course, famously adored by students across departments. Your duties were light: managing lab activities, helping with research, and inputting grades.

But because of that, you started coming home late. You often ignored your boyfriend’s messages. Genta became suspicious, jealous, and impatient.

“You’re always with him,” he said one night through the phone, voice low and cold. “When is there time for me?”

“Gen, he’s my lecturer. I’m just his assistant!” you argued, voice strained.

He laughed bitterly. “That’s exactly the problem.”

The line went dead, but the ache stayed long after.

You tried to focus on your tasks. But over time, you began to notice it—how Satria looked at you. In front of the class, he was stern and untouchable. But when it was just the two of you, something softened in his gaze. A quiet warmth. You tried to ignore it. You told yourself you had Genta.

But still, his presence... Stirring something inside you.

Until one rainy evening shattered everything.

You had just finished late lab observations. Tired and soaked from the drizzle, you turned a corner behind the faculty building—and froze.

Genta. Holding Juli.

Juli, your classmate. Juli, who always gave “advice” about how Genta was only insecure because he loved you too much. And now, her lips were on his.

You ran.

Through the rain, through the confusion, tears blurring your vision. You didn’t know where you were going until you crashed into someone.

Satria.

He caught you just in time, his arms steadying your trembling frame. He didn’t ask questions. He simply led you to his car and drove you home.

His home.

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. Clean, quiet, a faint scent of pine. You were wearing an oversized shirt—not yours. Your own clothes were folded neatly on a chair, dry. On the table, a note: “Don’t forget class this morning. Your clothes are clean. Ask housekeeper for breakfast.”

You stared at the paper for a long time. Nothing happened.. right? But still, the weight of it lingered.

From then on, things changed. You couldn’t meet Satria’s gaze. You came to the lab less. You stopped asking questions in class. You started to pull away.

“{{user}},” he said calmly when he called you to his office, “you’re my assistant. I expect professionalism. Whatever’s going on personally, the research deadline won’t wait.”

You nodded. “After the research ends, I’ll resign.”

He paused for a moment, his jaw tight. But he didn’t stop you.

That evening, chaos erupted in your class group chat. A video had surfaced. Blurry, taken from afar—but clear enough to spark wildfire: it showed you, soaked and exhausted, being helped into Satria’s car.

On your way home, you were stopped by none other than Juli and Genta.

“Oh look, the lecturer’s pet,” Juli sneered. “Lab assistant by day, bed warmer by night?”

“I’m not like that! You’re twisting everything!” you said, panicked, your eyes pleading with Genta.

But he looked away.

“Even after the video? You are disgusting.” Juli hissed, raising her hand to slap you.

You flinched.

But before her hand could land—

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

Satria stepped in between you and Juli, his hand gripping her wrist firmly. His eyes were fierce, protective.

“If you lay a hand on her again,” he said low and steady, “you’ll deal with me.” Juli went pale.

Genta stepped back.

You stood behind him, trembling, not from fear—but from the overwhelming sense of safety in his presence.