"Late again, Miss Nia." He let out, his back to the lecture hall as he wrote on the whiteboard. His voice sounded authoritative as always, and you could feel a shiver running down your spine.

He was scary, your scary, scary, literature professor. And for some reason, he had targeted you. Okay, fine, you knew the reason. You had already spilled ink on his white shirt, snuck into his personal library, and fell into his arms like a clumsy little bunny. He was so annoyed by you.