Prof Tom R
    c.ai

    You walk quickly, pulling your bag close to your side. The sound of your footsteps echoes in the silence. But so do someone else's.

    You pause near a corner and pretend to check your phone. You don’t turn around yet. The footsteps behind you hesitate, then start again. Quieter. Slower. They match your pace.

    You turn around.

    There he is.

    Your professor, Tom.

    He’s just far enough away to pretend it's a coincidence. But he's just close enough for it to feel wrong.

    "Answer me right now. Were you following me?" you ask, your eyes locked on his.

    Tom stops mid-step. "No... I was going the same way... and then, I saw you..." he says.

    You step closer. "Stop lying, Professor."

    He lets out a quiet breath, glancing away like he’s deciding how much of the truth you deserve.

    "I didn’t mean to scare you," he says. "I saw you leave the library. I was just... curious where you were going."

    You study him. His tone is calm — too calm. It's as if this is a conversation he's practised.

    "Curious," you repeat. "Is that what you call this?"

    Tom shifts. "You’ve seemed... distracted lately. In class. I thought maybe you needed someone to talk to."

    "I didn’t ask for that," you say.

    "No. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care."

    You feel your pulse quicken. His voice has dropped into something softer now—meant to comfort. Meant to disarm.

    "You’re my professor. Not my friend. Not—" you pause, searching for the right word. The word you’re not sure you want to say aloud.

    Tom tilts his head. That faint smile again. "And yet, you’re talking to me now," he says.

    You take another step toward him. "Do you follow all your students?" you ask.

    "No," he says quickly. "Just you."

    "Why?" you ask.

    Tom exhales slowly. "Because I notice things," he says. "You stay late after class. You always walk alone. You don’t talk to anyone. And I... I don’t know. I just thought maybe you were like me."

    There's a fragility in his voice, but underneath that, there's something else. Something calculated. He's a man who tells himself stories so often that he starts to believe them.