**Tom**
I stood at the front of the lecture hall, droning on about financial ratios, my voice echoing off the tired walls. My eyes kept drifting to Sara, her silhouette a tempting distraction from the mundane topic at hand. But she seemed determined to look anywhere but at me, her gaze darting around the room like a trapped bird. Was she suddenly fascinated by the peeling paint on the far wall, tracing its jagged patterns with those captivating eyes? Or perhaps the ancient gum stuck under the desk in front of her was the most riveting sight she'd ever seen, a relic far more intriguing than my lessons on financial ratios.
I couldn't help but notice how the soft morning light filtering through the dusty windows caught her hair, illuminating each strand like spun gold. Her lips, slightly parted in concentration, were a rosy distraction that made my collar feel uncomfortably tight. The gentle curve of her neck as she bent over her notes sent a jolt of electricity through me, making it difficult to focus on the dry figures I was meant to explain.
I wrapped up the lecture, but my mind was elsewhere. As students filed out, I noticed Sara teleporting from her seat to the exit. Was she training for the Olympics in speed-walking?
"Professor Blackwood?" A student's voice snapped me back to reality. "I had a question about the assignment."
"Of course," I replied, plastering on my best 'I'm-totally-focused-and-not-thinking-about-that-one-student' smile.
After answering a few questions, I gathered my things and headed out. The hallway was a sea of students, but I spotted Sara's cream sweater bobbing through the crowd like a buoy in a storm.
"Sara!" I called out, immediately regretting it. What was I thinking? This wasn't a rom-com where I could dramatically chase her down the hall.
She turned, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. For a split second, our gazes locked. Then, faster than you could say, "inappropriate student-teacher relationship," she vanished into the library.
I stood there, feeling like an idiot. A very confused idiot. Was she avoiding me? Or was she just really, really passionate about hitting the books?
I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should follow Sara into the library. Was this crossing a line? Probably. But my feet had a mind of their own, and before I knew it, I was pushing through the library doors.
The familiar scent of old books and desperation hit me as I entered. Students were scattered around, some buried in textbooks, others passed out on tables. Ah, the joys of higher education.
I spotted Sara between two towering bookshelves, her fingers tracing along book spines. She looked so focused that I half expected her to start communicating with the books telepathically.
Should I approach her? My brain screamed, "bad idea," but my feet seemed to have an agenda.
Just as I was about to take a step, a mental image flashed. Sara, arms crossed, loudly scolding me in the middle of the library. "Professor Blackwood, are you following me? This is highly inappropriate!" Her imaginary voice echoed through the silent library, causing every student to look up from their books, wide-eyed and scandalized.
I shook my head, banishing the thought. Nope, definitely not risking that scene. I'd rather face a room full of auditors than deal with public humiliation.
Instead, I settled for a smile. Not just any smile, mind you. This was my best "I'm a normal professor who definitely isn't thinking about that one-night" smile. I probably looked constipated.
Sara glanced up, caught my eye, and quickly looked away. Was that a blush creeping up her cheeks, or was she having an allergic reaction to knowledge?
Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, I turned to leave. My work here was done. Well, not really. I hadn't actually done anything. But sometimes, doing nothing is the smartest move, right?
I stepped out of the library, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The cool air hit my face, a welcome respite from the stuffy atmosphere inside. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. Right, time to head back to my office and pretend this awkward situation never happened.
I'd barely taken two steps when a voice behind me froze me.
"Are you stalking me?"
I whirled around, nearly losing my balance. There stood Sara, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, looking torn between amusement and annoyance.
"Stalking? Me? Psh, no," I sputtered, eloquent as ever. "I was just... admiring the library's... architecture. Fascinating stuff, really. Did you know it was built in the Neo-Gothic style? Absolutely riveting."
Sara's eyebrow climbed even higher. I didn't know eyebrows could do that.
"The library's architecture. Right." She nodded slowly, clearly not buying it. "And I suppose you just happened to follow me in there by pure coincidence?"
"Follow you? Ha! No, no, no," I laughed nervously. "I was actually looking for a book on... uh... corporate finance. I can't get enough of it, you know?"
"In the Ancient History section?"
Damn. She had me there.
"Well, you know what they say," I fumbled, "those who don't learn from financial history are doomed to repeat it. Or something like that."
Sara's lips twitched, fighting back a smile. "You're not very good at this, are you?"
I sighed, deflating like a sad balloon. "No, I'm really not."
She shook her head, but her eyes softened a bit. "Look, Professor Blackwood—"
"Tom," I interrupted. "Please, just call me Tom. 'Professor Blackwood' makes me feel like I should be wearing tweed and smoking a pipe."
That got a small chuckle out of her. Progress!
"Okay, Tom. We need to talk about... this." She gestured vaguely between us.
I nodded, suddenly feeling like a student about to be scolded. "Right. Yes. Talking. Good idea. Although, maybe not here in the middle of campus where everyone can see us having what looks like a very intense conversation?"
Sara glanced around, noticing the curious looks we were attracting. "Fair point. Where do you suggest?"
"My office?" I offered, then immediately backpedaled at her raised eyebrow. "Or not. Definitely not. Bad idea. Forget I said anything."
"How about the coffee shop across the street? Neutral territory."
"Perfect," I agreed, relieved. "Lead the way."
As we walked, I felt like I was marching to my own execution—or maybe a really awkward parent-teacher conference. Either way, it was not great.