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Even my professor shows up, but I’m so busy I only have time to treat him as a customer, all possible small-talk forgotten. Hours go by at a fast pace, but the intensity has me exhausted.

Once the shift ends and I get changed, I head out. The cold air hits my warm face as the autumn nights steadily get colder. The parking lot is almost empty as the last clients filter out into their cars, ready to go back home.

By the time I get to my car, it’s almost empty, and before I can unlock it, a movement catches my attention, scaring the living hell out of me.

I freeze, raising my eyes only to see a shape—aperson.

It’s moving, walking towards me confidently while I stand still like a cornered prey, watching him as my heart speeds up, anxiety filling my bloodstream.

Then he leans against my car, crossing his ankles like he has no intention of moving from there anytime soon.

As the surprise turns into acknowledgement, I gulp.

“What are you doing here?”

TWENTY

Willow

“Ihadalongcall for work when I was about to leave, and by the time I finished, I realised you were already clocking out. So, I just waited for a couple of minutes to see how you’re doing.”

My insides turn as a wave of foreign excitement courses through me.

What is happening?

In a weak attempt to ignore my body, I exhale those sensations, breathing once before answering, “Professor Adell—”

“Arthur,” he cuts me off. “Call me Arthur.”

“I-it’s hard. You’re my professor.” My words come out weak as I try to remind him—and myself—and the reality we find ourselves in.

There’s a solid, thick barrier around what a student and teacher relationship should be. And it’s clear it should never be disrespected.

“Calling me Arthur isn’t wrong. I am extra strict on a daily basis because—and I don’t mean this in a smug way—it’s very common to have students flirt or try to have something with me. Drawing that line from the beginning is imperative.”

“I understand.” He is a handsome man. I reckon it would be frustrating after a while.

“And now that I know you’re not going to disrespect those boundaries, I can relax with a student for the first time in…years.”

“I’m glad, then.” I smile, and he returns it.

It’s awkward but at the same time, peaceful. We’ve found common ground. One where he doesn’t hate my guts, and I’m not constantly in fear of his next move. It almost seems like instead of just tolerating my presence, he enjoys it… like friends.

I resist the urge to laugh at the irony. Friends with my professor? Professor Prick out of all of them? Who would have thought?

It’s weird. Too weird.

“I—” Stammering, not knowing what to say, I decide on a silent departure. My body moves on its own accord, stepping away from the car so I can start looking for the keys to unlock it.

This is too much and too confusing. It’s also late, and I need to get going.

Except, my bag falls to the floor, and just when I am about to crouch down to pick it up, a firm hold on my arm startles me. I jump at the same time my heart does, almost escaping through my mouth.

My brain fogs, too, as the darkest part of it opens unwanted memories.

“Shit,” I whisper-yell, clutching at the knot in my chest.

“Sorry,” he hastily says, walking closer and stopping when I take a step away.

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