Page 6 of Johan.

My heart pounds as I approach him, each step heavy with the weight of what I'm about to do. “Professor, could I have a word in your office? I’m struggling with some of the material,” I say, trying to sound genuinely concerned about the class.

Johan closes his briefcase, his expression unreadable. “Miss Hannah, I'm sure you have everything under control. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go.” His formality feels like a wall going up between us, cold and impenetrable.

But I can't just let him leave—not yet. Stepping in front of him, I lower my voice, desperate to break through his professional facade. “I need to ask you something,” I insist, locking eyes with him. The air between us crackles with unspoken tension, each second stretching longer than the last.

He sighs, a slight frown creasing his brow, but he nods. “Go ahead.”

My heart skips a beat as I blurt out the question that’s been burning inside me since he announced his engagement. “Are you having sex with Astrid while this charade of engagement continues?” My words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous, as if the room itself is holding its breath.

For a moment, Johan looks stunned, his usually composed face betraying a flicker of shock. His eyes dart around the now-empty room, seeking refuge or perhaps confirmation that no one else has heard my blunt query. He steps closer, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of the room. His voice drops to a whisper meant only for me. “The only woman I intend to have sex with is you,” he says, his breath warm against my cheek. The intimacy of the moment sends shivers down my spine, reigniting the fire that last night's secrecy had stoked.

My mind races, grappling with the implications of his words. “That doesn't answer my question,” I counter, my tone edged with skepticism yet softened by the lingering heat between us.

Johan’s eyes lock onto mine, a mix of frustration and earnestness swirling in their depths. “You won’t like the answer,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of desperation and sincerity.

“Try me,” I challenge, leaning in closer, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild drum.

He hesitates, then exhales deeply. “I always use condoms,” he confesses, the words heavy with unspoken emotions. “And shut my eyes… thinking of you.”

His admission takes me aback. “Why?”

Johan runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. “You know why,” he insists, his voice tinged with a plea for understanding.

“Tell me.” I cross my arms, a defensive barrier against the confusion and doubt swirling inside me.

He presses his lips tight for a moment before finally fessing up, “Because I want you, and only you.”

“I don’t believe you,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. But whatever the truth, a part of me yearns to focus on us, on the connection that defies logic and boundaries.

He reaches for his briefcase, ready to walk past me, but before he does, he asks, “Why do you think I came inside you?”

The remainder of his orgasm dripping between my thighs makes me gasp, heat rushing through me at the thought of it.

“When can we meet again?” I whisper back, my resolve wavering as I lean in, drawn to the magnetism of his presence despite the risks. The question hangs between us, a silent promise of nights cloaked in secrecy and passion, the line between right and wrong blurring with each heartbeat.

“I’ll call you tonight,” he promises, his voice low and urgent. “Make sure to be in bed by ten.” His words are both a command and an enticement, laced with the promise of more than just a phone call.

As he moves to leave, he brushes against my hand, a touch light but loaded with meaning, electrifying my skin. Then, with a last look that seems to hold a thousand words, he’s gone, leaving me standing in the empty classroom, wrapped in a mix of fear, excitement, and anticipation. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead is the only sound that accompanies me as I gather my things, my mind racing with possibilities for tonight.

After my lectures for the day are done, I step out into the crisp November air, the chill biting at my cheeks as I pull my coat tighter around me. The campus is quieter now, the earlier rush of students having thinned out as the late afternoon shadows lengthen. I make my way to a secluded corner of the campus, a small garden that’s tucked away from the usual foot traffic. It's a place that seems almost forgotten by most—a hidden gem where I can escape for a while.

The garden, once vibrant with summer blooms, is now a quiet sanctuary of bare branches and fallen leaves. The oak tree, still mighty, stands sentinel over the space, its branches now stripped of leaves, casting long, skeletal shadows on the ground. I find my usual bench, the wood cool and slightly damp from the morning frost that never fully melted. As I settle down, the bench creaks softly under my weight, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the late afternoon.

I pull out my phone, my fingers slightly numb from the cold, and dial Oma’s number. The need to hear her voice is strongerthan ever, a comfort I desperately seek as the weight of recent events bears down on me. The phone rings just twice before she picks up, her voice instantly wrapping around me like the warmth of a cozy blanket on a cold night.

“Now that’s a surprise. Everything okay, dear?” Her tone is bright and filled with care, the way it always is.

“Hi, Oma,” I reply, my voice soft, trying not to let the fatigue seep into it. I lower my voice further, making sure no one is close enough to overhear, even though the garden is empty. The cold air makes my breath visible, little puffs of white that fade quickly. “I'm alright, just on a break between classes,” I add before diving into the reason I called. “I met Amelia yesterday.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, a pause that tells me Oma is processing the news. “Oh, finally,” she says, her tone not as surprised as I thought it would be. “I was wondering how long she would take before doing so.”

“Why? Have you been in touch with her?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

“Since that letter you gave me, no,” she replies, her voice taking on a reflective tone. “But I know my sister well enough to know she’d try getting in touch with you.” She pauses, and I can almost picture her sitting back, taking a deep breath. “From my end, I decided to move on. She knows I’m searching for her, so now it’s up to her to do something about it.”

A silence settles between us, thick and heavy like the cold air around me. I struggle to find the right words, the weight of everything I’ve learned pressing down on me. But before I can say anything, Oma breaks the silence, her voice now softer, more concerned. “But tell me, darling, how did the meeting go?”

I lean back against the bench, my breath coming out in a slow, misty exhale as I look up at the sky, which is already darkening with the early onset of winter evening. The memory of yesterday’s meeting rushes back, and with it, the confusion andshock. “Well, she told me everything about her disappearance, her time in Ubar as an archaeologist…” I hesitate, the next piece of news still feeling too surreal to grasp fully. “And, eh, I found out something else just as shocking. I'm not sure if Mom told you or not, but it’s about Johan… he's engaged now.”

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