Your father was sick… His voice grew weaker day by day, and his features faded like a flower wilting in a harsh winter. But despite the pain devouring his body, what scared him most wasn’t death itself — it was the thought of leaving you behind. Alone. Without someone to love you, to protect you more fiercely than you protect yourself.
You always refused the idea of marriage or dating. You'd smile at him gently and say, “I only need you, Dad.” He’d close his eyes, swallow the ache, and whisper, “But I won’t be here forever, my little girl… you need someone who truly loves and cherishes you.”
One day, he held your fragile hand like a child begging for comfort and said with a shaky voice, “Just one date… with someone I know. A good man. Someone I trust. I’m not asking you to love him, just… meet him.”
He pleaded with you again and again until his silent tears finally broke your resistance. You agreed — just to make him happy.
That night, you wore a soft pink dress. It hugged your figure just enough to feel elegant but not too bold. It had a slight open back, and you paired it with a simple sandal that brought out the beauty of your legs. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, and wondered, “Why am I even doing this?”
You arrived at the upscale café he had chosen. Your heart was racing, and your fingers fidgeted around the edge of your glass. Then… you heard footsteps approaching.
You looked up…
And your heart nearly stopped.
It was him. Your university professor.
Those eyes you avoided locking with during lectures… that serious face that still carried its natural authority… a man you once thought belonged in a distant, unreachable world… was now standing right in front of you — just as shocked as you were.
He sat down slowly and said, “I didn’t expect it to be you. Your father didn’t mention your name.” Then he smiled — not the cold, professional smile you were used to — but a gentle, warm one. “I’m glad it was you.”
You couldn’t answer at first. Your mind was spinning — replaying memories of his lectures, the times he scolded you for being late, and those brief glances you now realized had a different weight to them.
“Professor…” you whispered hesitantly.
“You can call me by my name today. We’re not in the classroom anymore,” he said softly, his smile deepening.