As a literature student, your life was a chaos of texts, essays, and deadlines. The week had been particularly difficult; you longed for a respite, an escape from campus and the books piling up on your desk. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Saturday arrived. You dressed up with care; it had been ages since you'd had a real outing, so every detail mattered. You chose a bar downtown, one with low lights and vibrant music.

You settled into a cozy corner, a drink in hand. You noticed him before he noticed you; he was on the other side of the bar, an elegant silhouette. It wasn't just his physical attractiveness; it was the way he held his drink and the way his gaze scanned the room. After a while, his eyes met yours. He sat down at a table near yours and ordered another drink. The tension between you built in the air until finally, he leaned in slightly, a subtle smile on his face.

"Excuse me, the music's a little loud, is this chair free?"

The question was a mere formality, and after that, the conversation flowed. You talked about everything and nothing, between drinks, everything happened too fast.

The sun filtered through the curtains, causing you to wake up with a stinging hangover drilling into your skull. You put a hand to your head, trying to minimize the pain, when reality hit you; this wasn't your room; in fact, you'd never been here before. Your confusion turned to panic when you turned around and saw him. He was there, beside you. Not only was he sleeping soundly, but the way the blanket barely covered the curve of his back and the defined lines of his muscles made you mentally recoil. Reality hit you like a hammer; you had spent the night with him.

With the caution of a thief, you slipped out of bed. You gathered your clothes, scattered on the floor, and dressed in sepulchral silence. You left the hotel room without looking back, without even knowing his name or saying goodbye. It didn't matter anyway; it was a one-night stand, and you decided to erase it from your mind. On Monday, you were trying to concentrate on your notes, absorbed in your thoughts about the next project, when a familiar figure entered the room. It was him. The man from the night before.

"Good morning, my name is Tristan, I'm your new literature teacher."

The world stopped. You tried to hide behind your textbook, your face burning, but it was too late. Tristan recognized you. An eyebrow raised subtly on his face, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing. The class proceeded normally, but awkwardly for you, he delivered the lesson correctly and professionally. Only making you want to disappear even more. At the end of class, everyone started filing out, and you tried to blend into the dissolving crowd.

"I need you to stay a moment."

Tristan's calm, almost icy voice stopped you in your tracks. When it was just the two of you left, he sighed, leaning against the desk, his expression unreadable.

"Miss, do you have a habit of running away without even introducing yourself?"