(Jalen's POV)
I walked past her, ignoring her rage—something I learnt from an online mentor who talks about how to handle women that drive their men crazy because she does.
"I'm talking to you Jalen, you know better not to mess with me, if you ain't gonna be here, then stay with the whore you were with last night you hear me?" she yelled, walking behind me as I continued to ignore her until I couldn't take it anymore.
"I was at the office for some late essay marking, if you cared to ask like a wife that cared," I snapped.
She went silent, her eyes suddenly gloomy and calm. But I wasn't ready for her manipulation again. I bolted out of her presence straight to bed.
***
The sun slipped through my office window the next morning, and I was available long before the meeting was scheduled to begin.
I had arranged the session out of necessity, or so I told myself. Fiona's last assignment had been incomplete; her ideas were sharp but scattered, distracted. As her professor, it was my duty to guide her, help her focus. Nothing more.
Still, as I straightened the papers on my desk for the fifth time, I knew the lie was wearing thin. I had chosen the late slot deliberately, knowing most of the campus would be empty by evening. I wanted quiet. I wanted distance. But a part of me wanted her too.
After school activities and classes, I returned to my office, slouching into my chair, trying to keep my eyes open when a knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I said, trying to sound composed.
She stepped in, dusting off her cloth, her hair slightly damp like she just had a shower. The soft scent of water and her vanilla cologne filled the small room. My throat tightened.
"Jalen— sorry, professor," she greeted, closing the door gently behind her.
"Fiona." I nodded toward the chair across from me. "You're right on time."
She smiled faintly. "You didn't expect me to be?"
"I wasn't sure," I admitted, sitting down. "Lately, your attention in class has… shifted."
Her eyes flickered, unreadable. "Maybe I've been distracted."
I gestured to the papers. "Then let's fix that. Your draft on emotional realism—it had potential. You just need structure."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Structure," she repeated softly, as though testing the word. "That's your specialty, isn't it? Keeping things in order."
I forced a calm tone. "It's part of the job."
"And what about when things fall out of order?" she asked. "When emotions don't follow the rules?"
I exhaled through my nose, steadying myself. "Then we learn to separate feeling from action."
She tilted her head, her eyes glinting. "Can you really do that?"
The question hung between us, heavier than the rain that started pouring outside.
I looked down at her paper to avoid her gaze. "Let's focus on your writing." I marked a paragraph with my pen. "See here? The character hides her emotions but the tension still shows through—tiny gestures, unfinished sentences. That's what makes the scene powerful."
She watched me silently, then murmured, "So power comes from what we don't say?"
"Exactly."
She smiled—slow, deliberate. "Then we must be very powerful, you and I."
My hand stilled on the page, for a moment, the sound of the rain seemed to vanish, replaced by the quiet thrum of my pulse. She wasn't teasing anymore. There was something raw in her tone, something that stripped away pretense.
"Fiona," I said carefully, "you're crossing a harsh line."
"I'm just learning," she whispered. "You're my teacher, remember?"
Her words were innocent enough, but the look in her eyes wasn't.
Before I could answer, the lights flickered. Then darkness swallowed the room. The rain had intensified, whipping against the windows.
"Power outage," I muttered, rising to check the switch. "It happens when the storm gets heavy."
The emergency lamp near the bookshelf glowed faintly, bathing the room in soft amber light. It wasn't much, but enough to see her face—her lips parted slightly, eyes wide yet calm.
"Should I wait until it comes back?" she asked.
"It's safer to stay inside," I said. "The hallways are dark." she nodded.
She stood, walking slowly to the shelf where I was checking the lamp. The space was narrow; when she stopped beside me, her shoulder brushed mine.
I stepped back instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. The wall pressed against my spine.
"Fiona," I said quietly, "please don't—"
"Don't what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Stand too close? Breathe the same air?"
Her nearness was maddening. The faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth radiating from her skin—every detail burned into my senses.
"This isn't right," I said, though my tone betrayed the weakness in my determination.
"Then tell me to leave."
I should have. It would have been the easiest thing to do. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, I found myself watching her—the pulse fluttering at her neck, her pupil dilated, staring at me as I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned closer to her, so close that our faces were just an inch apart. She shut her eyes close and I paused, getting a better view of how beautiful she looked.
I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze away. "You should sit. The rain will pass soon."
She sighed and obeyed, but the silence that followed was electric. I returned to my chair, though every inch of the desk between us felt too small.
Minutes passed. The rain started to soften.
"Professor," she said suddenly, her voice soft but steady, "why do you keep running from this?"
"Because I have to," I said. "Because if I don't, everything I've built—everything your father trusts me with—will fall apart."
She looked down, then back at me. "And what if it already has?"
The vulnerability in her tone caught me off guard. For the first time, she looked less like the bold student who teased me and more like a girl trying to understand a world that wouldn't let her feel freely.
I sighed and leaned closer to her, smudging a finger over her lips lightly. "You don't understand how dangerous this is," I said.
"Maybe I do," she whispered. "But maybe danger doesn't scare me anymore."
Another flash of lightning filled the window. She flinched slightly, and before I could stop myself, I reached across the desk, grabbing her close to my chest.
Her fingers curled around my waist instantly, holding tight.
It was such a small thing, Yet it undid every boundary I thought I had, our lips nearly touched when the lights finally flickered back to life, but she didn't let go until i pulled away.
We sat like that for a long moment, the sound of the rain now a faint background rhythm. Then I gently pulled my hand away.
"You should go," I said softly. "We can continue this some other time when the air is cleared," I instructed.
She nodded, gathering her papers, her expression unreadable. But before leaving, she paused at the door.
"Thank you for the lesson," she said.
When the door closed, I sank into my chair, staring at my hand as though her warmth still lingered there.
I'd told myself I was strong enough to keep distance. But sitting alone in that quiet room, with the scent of her still hanging in the air, I knew I was lying to myself again.
I was losing control—slowly, completely.
And the worst part? I wasn't sure I wanted to stop.