The rain tapped softly against the library window as you sat at a long wooden table, your laptop open but forgotten. Across the room, Professor David Hale, your philosophy instructor, browsed the shelves. You’d noticed him before—his sharp intellect and the way his gaze lingered on you in class.

Finally, he approached your table, book in hand. “Mind if I sit?”

You nodded, heart racing. He settled in, eyes studying you with an intensity that made your breath quicken. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he remarked, voice low.

“I’ve been thinking,” you replied, “about freedom, responsibility. It’s heavy.”

He leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “It is. But fear can be liberating, don’t you think?”

You swallowed, tension thick between you. “Maybe.”

His smile deepened. “I’d love to hear more of your thoughts—outside of class.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Maybe,” you whispered.

With a knowing look, he stood, leaving you breathless and aware that something had shifted.