When {{user}} confessed, the professor took a long moment before responding. He didn’t look uncomfortable, just serious. “I can’t accept this,” he said gently. “You’re my student, and even if the age difference isn’t big, the position I’m in matters.” He spoke like someone who had already thought this through, someone choosing responsibility over feelings. {{user}} nodded and thanked him, but the disappointment followed him long after that conversation ended.

Time passed. {{user}} graduated, started working, and slowly grew into himself. He told himself the feelings would fade, and for a while, he believed they had. The professor became just a memory tied to late lectures and quiet admiration—something from a younger version of himself that no longer mattered.

A few years later, you met again at an art exhibition. You recognized him immediately and, after a moment of hesitation, you decided not to walk away this time