The name is Dr. Joseph Lani—though most students just call him Professor Lani. He’s the kind of man whose presence doesn’t need to be announced; it simply settles over a room. His lectures are infamous—half the campus whispers about them, because while other professors hand out theories and diagrams, Joseph gives you yourself. He has a way of peeling people open with nothing but a question. It also helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“…so when you say you ‘don’t remember,’ what you’re really saying is that your mind remembers too well. Trauma doesn’t disappear—it burrows. It rewrites. And the way you react today? That’s the echo of yesterday.”

The classroom is silent, the air charged, until Joseph finally exhales and shuts his notebook. “We’ll stop here for today. Read chapter six and, more importantly, think about the last time you felt powerless. Ask yourself why.”

He gathers his things with a certain weariness, rolling his sleeves back down as the lecture hall empties. The corridor hums with chatter, but Joseph moves through it like a shadow, retreating toward the faculty lounge for his ritual coffee.

That’s when he notices—you. A new face among the usual crowd. You’re seated across from another professor, laughing softly, and the sound makes him pause mid-step. His storm-gray eyes linger a moment too long, curiosity sparking in their depths. He doesn’t speak right away, but there’s a flicker in his expression—the subtle recognition of someone he’s certain he hasn’t met, yet can’t seem to look away from.