Page 12 of Arrogant Professor

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The first test of my resolution came with my next class. I knew Elle would be there. I knew seeing her would stir up the memory of that kiss all over again. As students began to file into the room, I blew out a breath to compose myself.

I was a grown man, nearly fifty years old and fully capable of self-control. If I wanted to keep my job—and potentially a shot at becoming the Dean of this school one day—I wouldn’t allow myself to fall to pieces over one little kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place.

The classroom was nearly full by now. I scanned the faces, cursing myself for hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Nothing.

I glanced at the clock—time to get started.

Where was Elle?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter whether she was here or not. I couldn’t afford to care.

One week dragged into another. I still caught myself searching every class for signs of Elle and finding her absent.

I’ll be dropping your class after this. Won’t be able to look you in the eye.

“Damn it,” I sighed.

Elle was probably too embarrassed to attend my class now. Ultimately, it was her decision whether she dropped out or not, but it was a shame to think her education suffered because of it.

In my office after class, I pulled up my email, weighing whether or not it was appropriate to write to her. The cursor blinked on the blank email. One minute ticked by. Then another.

A professor of literature, at a loss for words. The irony was astounding.

I closed the email while defeat nagged at me. I wasn’t the type to give up so easily. But maybe it was better this way. Keeping distance between us would be in our best interests.

“With Fall break just around the corner,” I announced to my class. “I like to loosen the reins a bit for you. I want to hear about the poet or author who has inspired you this semester. Can I get a volunteer to read a passage for us?”

I scanned the room. At this point, I wasn’t looking for Elle anymore. Three weeks had passed with no sign of her. That seemed proof enough that she had moved on.

One student raised his hand. I settled into my desk and gestured for him to come down.

“The floor is yours, sir.”

He cleared his throat and brought a battered, leather bound copy of poetry to the front of the room. As he began to read, my gaze strayed over the students, watching how they reacted to the passage. I recognized the work of Keats almost right away.

But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,

With brighter eyes and slow amenity,

Put her new lips to his, and give afresh

The life she had so tangled in her mesh…

A figure emerged at the back of the room, swathed in a heavy burgundy coat as she slid into a vacant seat. A baseball cap was pulled low over her eyes, and she slouched in her chair so low that I almost missed her.

Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,

A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,

While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires.

When she lifted her head just enough to get a glimpse of her face, the words faded as familiarity washed over me.

Elle. She was here.

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