I’m the reason half the engineering department suddenly cares about mechanics. I know. I can see it in the way they look at me. In the way the energy shifts the second I walk into a room.

Lando Norris — twenty-five, barely old enough to blend in with the other professors. It’s strange, being on this side of the desk when not so long ago, I was on the other. They whisper about me in corridors, joke in hushed tones during lectures. Some try to get a reaction out of me—make me laugh, fluster me, push at the edges of the line I keep perfectly straight.

And then there’s her.

She’s not like the others, or at least she pretends she’s not. She doesn’t hang on my every word or laugh too loudly at a bad joke. She just… arrives late. Every time. Always a different excuse written across her face before she even opens the door.

The lecture’s halfway through—torque today—when the door snaps shut behind her like a gunshot. The room goes still, every pair of eyes tilting toward her. Mine too. I pause mid-sentence, chalk hovering above the board, jaw tightening for the briefest second before I keep going.

“Nice of you to join us,” I say, steady, not looking at her. It earns a ripple of quiet laughter from the class. I don’t have to turn around to know she’s shrinking into her seat, trying to disappear.

But I notice everything. The way she moves, the way she scribbles nonsense into her notebook without really hearing a word I say. I shouldn’t. She’s just another student. But somehow, she isn’t.

When the bell rings, I catch her trying to slip out before the noise dies down.

“Not you,” I say, my voice cutting through the shuffle. Calm. Firm. She freezes mid-step. A couple of students glance back, then keep moving.

I erase the board slowly, letting the last bodies leave the room. The door closes with a soft click, sealing the two of us in a heavier silence. I turn to face her, meeting her eyes across the room.

“Five times late this month,” I say, the words coming out more even than they feel. “I was going to let it slide, but…” My voice trails off. There’s something in the air I can’t quite name.

I set the chalk down. My fingers are steadier than my chest.

“So,” I say quietly. “What’s going on?”