{{user}} hadn’t expected the notification.

The glow of her phone lit up her face in the dim quiet of her bedroom, casting pale blue light across her sheets and the half-open textbook abandoned beside her. She had been lying on her stomach, feet kicking lazily in the air, mindlessly swiping through profiles more out of boredom than actual interest.

It had been a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous little joke.

Her thumb had paused when she saw the familiar face—sharp jawline, dark eyes always calculating, the faint crease between his brows that never quite disappeared. The same face that stood at the front of her 10:00 a.m. Modern European History lecture every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Professor Bright.

Stoic. Detached. Unreadable.

He never smiled at students unless it was tight-lipped and fleeting. Never lingered after class to chat. Never entertained flirtatious comments from the bolder girls in the front row. He carried himself with an air of quiet authority, sleeves always rolled neatly to his forearms, voice smooth and controlled as he lectured about revolutions and empires like he had personally witnessed them.

And yet—there he was.

On Tinder.

His profile was surprisingly simple. A photo of him in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled, leaning against what looked like a brick wall. Another of him holding a book, though it looked less staged than she would’ve expected. His bio was short.

Historian. Coffee enthusiast. Partial to intelligent conversation.

She had laughed under her breath when she saw it.

“There’s no way,” she had murmured to herself, biting back a grin.

It had been impulsive. Reckless. Pure curiosity.

She swiped right.

Fully expecting nothing.

Instead, the screen flashed bright pink.

It’s a match!

Her stomach dropped so fast she physically sat up in bed.

No.

No, no, no.

Her heart began to pound in her ears as his profile picture expanded across her screen. There was no mistaking him. The same intense gaze that made half the lecture hall sit up straighter under it.

She stared at it.

Frozen.

And then—

A message notification popped up.

Not even a full minute later.

Her breath caught as she opened it, fingers suddenly feeling too warm, too clumsy against the glass.

“Well, this is awkward…”

The words felt heavier than they should have. Measured. Controlled. Exactly like him.