I'm in my room, hands supporting my head and threading through my hair in frustration. I pace the room restlessly before sitting on my bed and sighing in exasperation.

"Are you alright?"

I look up, remembering that Hannah is standing by the door.

"It's been a long day, I think I'm just tired," I sigh, "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow, realise how irrational I've been, and march over to Grant's to apologise."

She shrugs as I gesture her closer.

"You know you're going to have to be my new friend, right? Even if temporarily. I can't survive on my own. I don't want to be the loner that gets picked on, I've suffered with that enough in my childhood," I say, only half kidding as she sits down beside me, sinking into the soft duvet.

A smile curves her lips, "Sure. I think I'm done with Martha-May, Clara, and Jesse. She may be my twin, but we've never been close."

Gathering my negative thoughts into a picnic blanket and tossing it over the side of a cliff, I allow a laugh to escape me, "That's sisterly love, if I ever saw any."

I don't realise that someone else has come in until Professor Hartley's smooth voice is cutting through the air, "Miss Neversea? Miss Klein?"

"Hello, Sir," Hannah answers politely, a practised greeting paired with a small smile.

I look up at him expectantly as he looks between us several times before deciding not to question it. He instead asks, "Miss Klein, will you be here often from now on?"

She hesitates and glances at me. Rolling my eyes, I supply an answer for her, "Yeah," I nod, deciding to add, "and Grant won't be."

Placing his bag down, he makes the smart decision not to ask about my choice of words and heads into the bathroom to change. As it shuts behind him, Hannah nudges me.

"I have a theory about why Grant lied to you," she says.

I already know what she's thinking but my brain isn't acknowledging it. Come on, you dumb shit, he tried to kiss you, it must be obvious why he lied.

I exhale a heavy breath, "I already know, don't tell me. How do I get him to stop? I'm sorry, but I will never reciprocate his feelings - especially after this."

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt and gives me a pitying look, "I don't know. Maybe he'll back off now."

I can only hope.

Hannah leaves after a while, just as Professor Hartley opens the bathroom door, freshly showered.

"Can I not get one single day without this much drama? I feel like the main character of a very-unfunny sitcom," I voice my pessimistic thoughts, pulling my hair out of its bobble as I start to get one of my famously horrid migraines.

Professor Hartley walks closer and settles on his bed, "I usually do a good job of repressing my curiosity, but I have to ask. What is happening between you and Grant? Your relationship seems odd."

"Ew," I immediately state, "there is no relationship. And secondly - ew, you're my teacher, it's weird to talk about this stuff."

He raises his chocolate eyes to mine, "And it isn't weird at all that we sleep a metre away from each other? You have no obligation to tell me, Miss Neversea, you just seemed troubled."

As I ponder over a suitable reply, he walks over to the mirror, towel-drying his soaked hair. The darkened strands are swept back as he combs his fingers through them, the top longer than the sides to accommodate for his usual fohawk.

See - this is why you don't put a hormonal student in with an attractive professor.

"I'll tell you but it's not my fault if you get freaked out," I sigh as he faces me again, only succumbing to his question because I feel the need to get another opinion for confirmation that I'm not overreacting about this.

He shrugs, "Being a professor means nothing surprises me any. There are some strange ones in your class, Miss Neversea."

I disregard his possible insult towards me and start the complex and unfunny story of my life, "So a while back, Grant told me he was dating a girl called Hannah. Don't give me that look, yes, that Hannah. Then, he invited me to dinner with them and claimed they weren't that serious so I'd be a good addition to their duo. I went to meet up with them but only Grant was there and he said Hannah couldn't make it since she was ill. We go out to eat in a super awkward, romantic restaurant, and when we returned, I find Hannah perfectly healthy. I get mad at Hannah because I figured she lied to Grant about being sick but when she turned up at our door saying otherwise, I confronted him. He tried to lie again, and I stormed out."

Ending with a much-needed breath, I lean back against the wall, raising a knee to balance my elbow on. Professor Hartley processes the information before replying, "Do you like him? Why are you upset by an innocuous lie, or perhaps misunderstanding between them?"

I gape at him, "There was no misunderstanding! He just lied, I know it! Don't try and shine good light on him, he's a liar. And of course I don't like him."

He gives me a questioning look, "Then perhaps he likes you?"

I fall silent, forced to face the truth that's been hiding in the back of my mind. My English professor doesn't speak another word until I finally gather up the bravery to respond.

"But I don't want him to," I sigh, "I don't like him in that way at all. And it's just annoying that this is now on my mind when I should be focussing on other things. I don't need this whole situation right now."

Leaning back and crossing his arms, he seems to hesitate over his next sentence, "Do you suffer from any stress-related disorders?"

I look up at him. For some reason, insecurity rises in my chest as I quickly build a wall between us and use dry humour as my defence, "Yes, I have a disorder. It's called teenageritis. If you find a cure, let me know. Thanks. Dude, every other teenager is exactly as stressed as I am so there is no disorder here. Welcome to 2017, grandpa."

Offering a frown at my choice of words, his eyes level with mine, "You have become very defensive, Miss Neversea. It was not my intent to upset you. I apologise, it was a provoking question on my part."

Great, now I feel bad and I didn't even do anything. Ugh, I am a flawed human.

"No, it's fine," I lift a hand to my forehead, "Why are you like this? You're so... civil."

He closes his eyes for a moment, contemplating. I watch him, like a scientist inspecting a sample. For a flicker of a second I see the pain in his expression. His gaze lifts to his bedside table, where I notice a photo on display in an ornate frame.

"No reason," he refuses to meet my eye, "Just my personality."

Well, I've been questioning if you actually have a personality. You just seems like a bunch of big words stuffed into a gorgeous body. I stop myself from thinking out loud and block off the passageway between my mind and mouth that always seems to be wide open.

"And you said I was a strange one," I mutter under my breath.

He smiles, "It was implied, not said, but I'm happy you are learning to analyse what I say. Maybe you should apply those skills to the texts in there," he gestures to the booklet discarded on my desk.

My expression instantly becomes flatter than coke that's been left open for a week.

"You are such an English professor," I heave a sigh.

The following day arrives sooner than expected. Groggy and intoxicated by sleep, I push myself up into a sitting position and rub my eyes, body refusing to cooperate with me.

I push a hand through my tangled hair and blink several times to get rid of the cloudiness from my less-than-gentle rubbing. The warmth of the duvet replaced by the still air of my room, I stretch and force myself to my feet. The bright, morning light spills in through the blinds like water as my eyes zone in on my bedside table.

My phone sits there innocently as if my heart hadn't been jolted awake by the shrill screeching of my alarm a few minutes ago. I scowl at it as I check my notifications before leaving my phone on my bed and heading to the bathroom.

I get ready fairly quickly and throw on a watch, a glance at my timetable leaving me antsy to be on time for my morning lecture. As usual, Professor Hartley's bed is already made, sheets so unwrinkled that no-one would be able to tell if he slept in them at all last night.

Before I head out, I find myself stopping, my gaze catching the frame that Professor Hartley's gaze lingered on yesterday. I find myself making a beeline for it without thinking, and my hands are carefully picking it up before I realise my nosiness.

It looks like a photo of two adorable siblings. The edges of the photo are frayed with age but the intricate frame around it keeps the surface pristine. A little boy and girl are grinning widely at the camera, eyes wide and bright with youth and naivety. The girl is clad in a floral dress with frilly edges and her brother (who looks no more than two or three years older than her) lifts her in his arms, mischief glinting in his eye.

Why would Professor Hartley have this photo?

I'm peeling off the leather back of the frame a second later, cautiously pulling it aside to read the back off the frail photo.

Slater and Addilyn, my everything.

For some unknown reason, a pang hits me in the chest. Everything about the caption, from the cursive handwriting to the endearing tone, suggests that a mother wrote this. Suddenly feeling guilty, I press the back of the frame back on and set in down on the table cautiously.

I make a mental note to ask Professor Hartley about it.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

I stand in the middle of the room, tucking my hair behind my ear as everyone finds their seats. A three-hour lecture is beginning and I am determined not to sit anywhere in Grant's vicinity. Skilfully dodging Gaze's watchful eyes, I over-exaggerate a wave at Hannah and walk over to her desk, which is on the other side of the room to Grant.

"Morning," she greets warmly.

As usual, she is put together in a modest yet stylish outfit. Her ginger hair falls around her in curls, spilling over her shoulders, and her plain, snug shirt is paired with denim jeans.

I return the greeting as the clack of shoes against the polished floors signify Professor Hartley's entrance and the group settles into a silence. Everyone takes a seat and I make it a point to completely disregard the gaze burning into the side of my head by taking out my notebook and paying more attention than necessary to the well-dressed professor at the front of the room.

Plan Avoid-Grant successful.

Professor Hartley removes his glasses and sets them down on his desk, looking unusually tired. He raises a hand to his forehead before the last of his resistance dissolves, "Please work on your assignments for the week."

The room itself seems to give an indifferent shrug as it descends into chatter. I turn to Hannah, "That's weird. It's not just me, right?"

Hannah looks up from her notebook, pausing her steady stream of flawless handwriting, "Well, he is a teacher at a university, Quorra. You can't expect him to be chipper all the time. I think the start of the academic year is just a tough time for the all the lecturers. It must be taking a toll on him."

I sigh, sinking lower into my seat as if I could just disappear and reappear in my dorm, wrapped in the inviting duvet, "Why are you so rational?"

At that, she offers me her signature smile. I can't help but crack a smile too, nudging her before she continues to write.

My English professor runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, eyes landing on me as I quickly drop my smile and pick up my pen, expecting a rant about my inadequate notes.

School was a struggle but this is a whole new level. I focus and try to take notes but as soon as I get one point down, it seems we're talking about something completely different. I've considered recording the lecture on my phone so I can just listen during class and make notes in my own time, but that sounded like a huge commitment, especially as we have lectures so often. To be frank, I've been destined for failure my whole life.

This whole university experience has been nothing like I expected it to be. I've been beaten down and forced to push past my limits, far more than lower school grading made me.

Is it paying off?

I glance over to my side at Hannah before my gaze skims over Grant and lands on the professor at the head of the room.

... I don't know.

●（=｀～'=） ●

Yay! Chapter ten mark!

From here on, we'll be seeing more development in the Professor Hartley department... On that note, I realise I haven't revealed his first name yet. Any guesses?

Thanks for reading!

Over and out,
Agent Spud 🥔