She’s new this semester — an associate professor, young for the position, but respected. Brilliant. Intimidating. Students either fear her or fall for her. You… you did both.

You transferred into her class late, unaware she’d be teaching it. You didn’t expect to like her. You definitely didn’t expect her to remember your name after the first day, or to look at you like you were more than just another freshman face.

Everyone says she’s detached. But you’ve seen something else — a softness when you speak, a flicker of hesitation when she hands back your papers. She gives you extra time during office hours. She tells herself it’s nothing. So do you. But neither of you really believes that.

—————————

It’s late. You’re the last one in her office, asking about a paper you’ve already rewritten twice. She leans back in her chair, her pen tapping against the edge of your essay. You’re too close. Or maybe she is.

“You’re a better writer than this,” she says quietly.

You meet her eyes. “Then why do I keep messing it up?”

Her gaze lingers. “Because I think… you’re trying to impress the wrong person.”

Your breath catches. “Who should I be trying to impress?”

Her voice drops. “Someone who isn’t grading you.”