We enter Professor Wright's office and I close the door, just in case if anyone gets a little curious, they won't be able to eavesdrop, or at least not easily. The blinds of his window behind the desk are drawn and the only source of illumination is the pair of fluorescent lights attached to the ceiling.

He places his satchel on his desk and turns to me, leaning to his desk and crosses his arms, the cords of his toned forearm flexing with the movement.

I open my mouth to talk but he starts faster, "No, Miss Stewart, I won't be making you my TA. Especially not this semester."

I gaze at him for a moment before smiling. "In fact, I thought about it and realized it sounded... a little far-fetched. So I'm over that." I wave my hand dismissively.

He levels a pointed stare at me and scoffs, "A little?"

I roll my eyes and shrug. "Since that's off the table, let's just forget I said that," I offer with a smile.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, "Then what did you want to talk about?"

I lick my lips and shuffle my feet. With a sharp inhale, I push a strand of hair behind my ear. "Will you pass me with a good grade? I just showed you how serious I am about studying."

He purses his lips, his smooth brow furrows. "You were only active today. One session is not enough miss Stewart; it has to be consistent."

"It's the second week of November already, half of the semester is gone. I wrapped up whatever you taught in these weeks in less than a week, isn't that something? It can't be nothing! Are you saying you weren't impressed even a little?" I press the tips of my index finger and thumb together for emphasis.

He vacantly stares at me for a moment. I can't help but notice his shirt is the same color as his eyes, dark blue which only makes him look more striking. He places his hands behind himself on the desk, landing them on the precise places that have no textbooks or papers. A smug smile arches his lips. "Actually, after seeing your performance today, I ought to fail you. It's a shame you're wasting your abilities like that and as your professor, it's my duty to teach you to not do that. And what better way than failing you, so you'd remember to always use your full capacity."

Asshole. I force a tight-lipped smile. "I need a high grade because if I want to continue, I need a scholarship."

"Well, one session of activity is not enough, Stewart."

I draw a deep breath to calm my raging heart and fuming thoughts. I bite the inside of my cheek just in case I lose it and start screaming profanities at him.

Why did I have to get stuck with the most condescending ass of a professor for such an important issue?

Gathering my thoughts and pulling on a calm façade I state, "I'm a good student, which means, now that I have caught up with your class, I will keep on being active. I just need to be assured that I can count on a good grade from this class."

"Say your ideal grade is hundred... just being active is not enough. I'll admit, I was surprised, not impressed," he pauses for a more effective impact as he gives me a pointed look, "that you wrapped up half this course's syllabus in a week. But your midterm grade is awful and the assignments you turned in, aren't up to par."

My shoulders slump and I look away. I only slept two or three hours in these past days to catch up with his class, to impress him, and move on to the second part of my plan. It was all useless.

"Unless," he adds and my head shoots up. The black cloud of dejection parting way for a ray of hope. I wait for him to go on as he scans his bookshelf. "You make it up for it." His gaze jumps to me and our eyes lock.

"How?" my voice comes out weaker than I expected.

He inhales sharply and pushes his hands into his pockets. "I'll give you some problems with a fixed deadline, if you manage to solve it and hand it in by the deadline, then I can assure you, you'll pass this class with a good grade, but if not, I can't do much for you."

"Great! I'll do that."

"Don't be so sure, it's not going to be easy."

I smile and hold his gaze. "I like challenges."

He arches an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth lifts up for a second before he returns to his expressionless face.

"Very well then, come by Friday, the same time you came the other week and I'll give them to you."

"Sounds great," I grin at him. This will be my opportunity to shine.

"That's it?" he asks and straightens himself.

I open my mouth to say yes but then halt. There's no harm in pushing my luck a little. If he agreed to give me second chance to make up for the lost grade of my assignments, why can't I thread closer to stage two of my plan? "Actually, no, there's something else too."

This piques his attention, he quirks an eyebrow.

"If I manage to pull this off, and solve all the problems you give me by the deadline..." my voice trails down and I fidget with my wristwatch. I summon my courage and blurt out, "Will you guide me for writing a paper?"

"No," he instantly replies.

He didn't even hesitate. Oh shit. My eyes widen and instinctively I take a step toward him, "Why not?" I fail to hide my desperation.

He shrugs. "Just don't want to do that at the moment."

"Is it because I'm an undergrad?"

"Mainly." He stands next to his library and crosses his arms again.

"That's not fair," I whine and regret it right away. So I straighten up and try to compose myself. "You know I need a resume."

"I do, but there are other options too for gathering a good resume."

"No, I want to publish a paper." I cross my hands and he sighs.

"Fine, you can work with Professor Morris, I'm sure he'll agree, or if you want to work with someone else, I can put in a good word for you," he offers.

"No," I snap a bit too harshly, making him frown and eye me suspiciously.

Just fucking great. Now he'll think I have a thing for him. Fuck it.

I let my arms fall next to me, after clenching and unclenching them for a second, I continue, "I want to work on number theory."

He squints and rubs his chin. "I'm new here, maybe I don't know all the faculty members, perhaps someone else-"

I interrupt him, "No, the only other professor who specialized in number theory retired last semester."

He nods with his lips pressed into a thin line. "Well, looks like you have to find another branch to work on." Wright moves behind his desk and settles down on the leather chair.

I flex my fingers and tap my left foot as I rack my memory trying to remember every little detail I've heard about him from my friends and Mason. I chew my bottom lip and run my finger over the bridge of my wristwatch as I stare the window behind him. My brain's light bulb suddenly flickers on.

"Is it because you're a student yourself?" the question tumbles out of my mouth before I can think any better.

His head snaps up from the notebook in his hand. He clenches his defined jaw and a muscle flickers for a flash. Irritation dances in his dark blue eyes. "In this university, I am your professor, and that's all it should matter."

I gulp noisily as I realize, I've struck a bad nerve. But I hold my ground, planting my legs farther apart, and ignoring my sneakers' pathetic squeaking sound. "I didn't mean it as a bad thing. In fact, becoming my thesis adviser can be good, it'll be something like..." my voice trails down, the word 'practice' stays on the tip of my tongue but I refuse to speak it and risk angering him.

As though he can see it written all over my face, he huffs, "Miss Stewart, let me get one thing clear for you. The moment someone gets their Ph.D. and starts teaching in colleges and universities, they are free to become anyone's thesis adviser. The fact that I'm working on my postdoc is irrelevant because it doesn't affect anything for any of my students. If I choose, I can work with students in any level. It's my choice to not enter that part of my job at the moment."

I nod and look down. "Sorry, sir," I mumble. This is bad, much worse than I had prepared. He doesn't want to work on a paper with anyone. Oh God, things could not have gone worse.

I scratch my forehead before gazing back up at him. "I promise I won't take much of your time and I'll work really hard, but plea-"

He interjects, "No."

"Can't you even consider it? Please," I beg, with pitching my voice dragging the last word. I don't let myself to picture how stupid and desperate I look.

He sighs and shakes his head.

"Please," I say again and he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

When he looks at me, I give him my best puppy dog eyes, while not being too obvious. So far it has worked on everyone, I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping it'll work on him too.

And it does.

He leans into his chair, his tense shoulders relaxing as he plays with the handle of his glasses. "How about we talk about this later? First focus on completing the problems I'll be giving you on Friday, if you managed to work through them by the deadline, then we'll discuss this?" he suggests and I grin.

As small as it might be, it's a victory nonetheless. "Thank you."

He rolls his eyes and I hold back my giggle. I spin to the door, ready to leave but just as I place my hand on the doorknob a question pops into my head.

I turn to Professor Wright. "How do you work on a postdoc? Like what do you do for it?"

He runs his hand through his hair, dishevelling it and a short wavy strand of dark brown hair falls on his brows. "Research."

I tilt my head to one side and gaze curiously at him.

"You work on a problem. Either improving an equation, a function, or solving those open ones."

My heart hammers in my chest, I school my expression to prevent it from changing. "Like one of those unsolved math problems?"

He nods and I clutch the doorknob tighter, hoping to steady myself as my mouth goes dry. I force out the question, "Are you working on improving something or solving?"

Wright smiles at me, "You can see that yourself once it's published."

"Of course," I mumble, avoiding to look at him as I nod. "Good afternoon, sir." With that, I hurry out of his room.

Holy shit. That Reimann surface problem was his postdoc project! 

Am I going head-to-head with my own professor?

Just fan-fucking-tastic. 

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