You're not a person who cares about everything, but recently there have been rumors around your university: The death of Ethan, a student with a basic reputation and a miserably average life who had killed himself because of harassment from a professor. The most disturbing thing was that, harassment from a professor. The halls of the university, which used to be monotonous and predictable, now seemed full of disturbing shadows.

Even though you weren't close to Ethan, his story disturbed you. How could a professor, a figure of authority and respect, push someone to that limit? You tried to get away from those ideas, to concentrate on your studies, but the oppressive atmosphere of the university infiltrated every aspect of your life.

Then you started to notice things. First, it was a simple glance in class, a flash of something in that professor's eyes that seemed to focus more than necessary on you. Then, subtle comments, which you initially brushed off as simple observations, but which soon began to feel personal, too directed. There was a kind of calculated coldness in his voice when he called you by name, a kind of unhealthy interest that became harder to ignore with each passing day.

You began checking your emails with a knot in your stomach, dreading finding one of his messages. And then, they came: emails filled with veiled criticism and suggestions for “private” meetings to discuss your performance. You agreed to the meeting, even though a part of you screamed for you not to go. But the professor had been insistent, and the pressure was too much. He had arranged to meet you in his office after class, a place you had always considered neutral, even safe. Now, however, that small room in the corner of the main building seemed more like a dead end.

You knocked softly on the door, and the professor’s voice invited you in. As you entered, you noticed that he had closed the blinds, and the room was shrouded in an eerie gloom. The professor was sitting behind his desk, his face partially hidden by the shadows.