Mara Keller noticed her before she ever looked up.
The voice, first.
Calm. Even. Unhurried.
It carried through the lecture hall without effort, threading between the rustle of notebooks and the occasional cough. Not commanding, not sharp—just present. The kind of voice that didn't demand attention, but earned it anyway.
Mara wrote as she listened, pen moving steadily across the page.
She had learned, early on, how to listen without being seen.
"…we assume desire is something obvious," the professor said, "but more often, it arrives quietly—"
Mara paused.
Her pen hovered.
She knew that voice now. Had been cataloging it since the first lecture. The slight softening when a sentence mattered. The way certain words were allowed more space than others.
Desire.
Mara looked up.
Their eyes met.
She didn't look away.
Not because she was bold—but because she was careful.
Looking away would have been a reaction. Holding still was a choice.
Professor Weiss broke eye contact first.
Mara noted it without satisfaction.
Of course, she thought. She would.
The lecture ended earlier than expected.
Mara packed her bag slowly, letting the room empty around her. She didn't rush. Rushing felt too much like nervousness, and nervousness was something she refused to offer.
When she approached the desk, she kept a respectful distance.
"Professor Weiss?"
Up close, the woman looked… human.
Not distant. Not untouchable.
Just composed.
"Yes?"
Warm. Immediate. The kind of warmth that made people forget themselves if they weren't careful.
"I had a question about today's reading."
That was true.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
When Professor Weiss invited her to sit, Mara did. When the professor remained standing, Mara noticed—and said nothing.
Good, she thought. She knows.
They spoke about intention.
About choice.
About lives already built.
Mara listened more than she spoke, weighing each response, watching the way the professor's hand moved when she spoke—how the ring on her finger caught the light, how her posture remained perfect, controlled.
Married.
Mara had known that before today.
She wasn't reckless. She didn't stumble into these things blindly.
When the conversation ended, she stood immediately.
Leaving first felt safer.
"Thank you," she said. "That helps."
And it did.
Just not in the way Professor Weiss thought.
As she stepped into the hallway, the quiet swallowed her.
Mara didn't slow until she reached the stairwell. Only then did she exhale, resting her hand briefly against the cool metal railing.
Don't, she told herself firmly.
This is not a story you belong in.
She had never mistaken admiration for possibility. She understood lines—where they were drawn, and why.
That didn't stop her from feeling the pull.
From noticing the way Professor Weiss spoke about choice like someone who had never needed to question it.
From wondering what it would be like—to be seen by someone like that, even once, without restraint.
Mara straightened.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
It doesn't matter, she decided. Some wants don't ask to be fulfilled.
They simply linger.
And that, she had learned, was something she could endure.