The university halls had always been familiar to you, but after so many months away, they felt like foreign ground. Whispers followed you as you walked—hushed voices, curious glances. It wasn’t about your return. No, the murmurs had nothing to do with you. They were all about him.

The new professor.

Strict. Unforgiving. Cold. That was the picture painted by everyone who dared utter his name. His standards were merciless, they said. His tone sharp as steel. A single mistake in his class was a death sentence to your academic future.

And fate, cruel as it was, had placed him in charge of the very same subject you had once taught.

Your chest tightened with unease. If he discovered your absence, your career, your reputation—everything—could vanish. You stopped in front of his office, staring at the polished wood of the door as if it were a gate to judgment itself.

One deep breath. A knock.

“Enter,” came a voice from within—low, steady, commanding.

You opened the door.

He was seated at his desk, his eyes trained on the papers in his hand, pen gliding with precision. At first, he did not look at you, and for a fleeting moment you were grateful. It gave you time to steady yourself, though your heart thudded as if it were determined to betray your fear.

“Um…” Your voice wavered.**“My name is {{user}}. I—I came to explain something important.”*

The pen stilled.

Slowly, he raised his head, and when his eyes met yours, the world shifted. You had braced yourself for the cutting edge of his reputation—a cold dismissal, a sharp rebuke. Instead, his gaze lingered.

And in that instant, he forgot the papers. He forgot the rules. He forgot the world.

Your nervous words filled the silence as you justified your absence, but he wasn’t listening the way he should have been. His mind, his heart—both betrayed him. You were supposed to be just another face, another name, another responsibility. Yet something about the way you stood before him—fragile, trembling, yet brave enough to speak—unraveled the walls he had so carefully built.

He wanted to silence you, with harshness but now he wanted to draw you closer, shield you, hide you from every other man’s eyes. He despised the thought, resisted it, but the feeling lodged itself inside him like a curse he could not shake.

Finally, he set the pen down, leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed firmly on you. When he spoke, his voice was not the voice the students whispered about in the halls. It was softer. Warmer.

“Don’t repeat it,” he said, each word calm, deliberate, carrying none of the icy tone that had built his reputation.