Chapter 57 Lottie
I watch Sandy until she disappears completely into the crowd, her figure getting smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left but the empty stretch of hallway.
Only then do I move.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, my thumb already unlocking it before I fully register the motion. I open my messages and scroll straight to Professor Hale’s thread.
My chest tightens just a little at his name.
I don’t overthink it.
I type quickly:
\[Tomorrow, 1 pm, your house?\]
Simple. Direct. No room to second-guess.
The moment I hit send, I watch the screen—and almost immediately, the three little dots appear.
He’s typing.
A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
His reply comes a second later:
\[Yes, that’s fine. I’ll make lunch.\]
The smile deepens, something warm settling low in my chest.
Then another message pops up.
\[Thank you for being understanding.\]
Something about that—about the softness in it—makes my expression soften in return.
I type back without hesitation:
\[It’s you, Professor. I can be no other way.\]
There’s a brief pause, and then a simple smiley face appears on my screen.
And just like that, I’m smiling again.
Which… seems to be happening a lot lately.
Any time I think about him.
Any time I talk to him.
I linger on the conversation for a second longer than necessary before closing it out and switching over to another thread.
Charlie.
\[Hey, stranger! Long time no talk to!\]
His reply comes almost instantly, like he’s been waiting for something to distract him.
\[Hey, stranger! It has been a while. No one would even be able to tell we’re related with how little we see each other.\]
I snort softly, shaking my head as I type back:
\[That’s ’cause you’re always off gallivanting somewhere with Jordan.\]
I can practically hear his laugh through the screen when his reply comes in.
\[Well, you know me!\]
\[That I do. So, you wanna grab lunch or dinner sometime soon?\]
\[Sure! Sunday works. Lunch or dinner, doesn’t matter.\]
\[Cool beans. Let’s do dinner. Six work for you?\]
\[Six is great! See you Sunday, sis.\]
\[See you Sunday, bro.\]
I smile at the exchange.
We always do that—“sis,” “bro”—like it’s necessary.
Like anyone looking at us wouldn’t already know.
We look that much alike.
He’s basically the male version of me, and I’m the female version of him.
Same face. Same expressions. Same stubborn streak. My features are just soft, whereas his are sharp.
I shake my head, still smiling as I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket.
When I glance up, the hallway is empty.
Completely.
I blink, realizing I’ve just been standing here… thinking… for longer than I meant to.
“Okay,” I murmur under my breath. “Time to move.”
I turn and start walking, my steps a little lighter than they were before.
I should head back, get cleaned up—shower, shave, moisturize.
Not planning anything.
Not assuming anything.
But…
A small, hopeful thought creeps in anyway.
Maybe tomorrow.
After we talk.
After we figure things out…
Maybe we won’t have to keep pretending anymore.
Maybe we can finally be whatever this is.
I let out a quiet snort, shaking my head at myself.
“Wishful thinking,” I mutter.
But I don’t push the thought away.
Not this time.
I walk quickly back to my dorm, the cold air biting at my cheeks and slipping through the gaps in my coat. It pushes against me with every step, sharp and relentless, but I barely register it.
My mind is elsewhere.
On him, on tomorrow.
On everything that’s changed.
By the time I make it inside, my fingers are stiff and my nose numb, but I move on autopilot—shedding layers, heading straight for the bathroom.
I take my time this time.
I shave carefully, methodically, like the act itself is grounding me. Then I sink into the tub, letting the heat soak into my muscles, loosening the tension I didn’t realize I was carrying.
For a little while, I just exist there.
Quiet.
Still.
Letting my thoughts drift without chasing them.
Afterward, I moisturize slowly, working it into my skin with deliberate care. When I’m done, I wrap myself up in a blanket, cocooning the warmth in, letting it settle deep into my body.
It feels… nice.
Comforting.
Like I’m preparing for something.
Eventually, once the warmth has fully seeped in, I unwrap myself and pull on some clothes. My skin feels softer now, smoother, more sensitive to the fabric brushing against it.
I pause for a moment, running my hand absently over my arm.
Then my thoughts drift again.
Professor Hale.
Patrick.
I exhale softly.
What do I call him now?
The question lingers longer than it should.
“Patrick” feels… intimate.
Personal.
Like crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed.
But “Professor Hale”—
That creates distance.
Safety.
A barrier that keeps things from slipping where they shouldn’t in public, in class, in front of others.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
But I want to call him Patrick.
I want to feel that closeness.
I want to hear his name on my lips and know that it’s mine to say.
That I’m allowed to say it.
That I belong close enough to him for that to be natural.
The thought sends a small, giddy shiver down my spine.
Fated mates.
The words settle into me differently now.
He belongs to me.
Not in a possessive, controlling way—
But in a way that feels deeper than that.
Quieter.
Certain.
He’s mine.
And I’m his.
We belong to each other.
That thought makes my heart stutter, then pick up speed, warmth blooming in my chest.
A small smile curves onto my lips before I can stop it.
God.
This is real.
The realization hits again, just as strong as before.
I should tell my parents.
The thought pops into my head so suddenly that it almost makes me laugh.
But just as quickly, I dismiss it.
No.
Not yet.
I’m not ready for that.
Because telling them means questions.
Means expectations.
Means them wanting to meet him immediately, to understand, to insert themselves into something I’m still trying to figure out for myself.
And I’m not ready to share him like that.
Not yet.
Not when I feel like I’ve only just gotten him.
Charlie, though…
He’s different.
He’ll know something’s up anyway. He always does.
And we don’t keep things from each other—not really.
I can tell him.
Ease into it.
Another soft, almost giddy shiver moves through me, and I press my lips together, trying to contain the smile threatening to spread again.
Tomorrow.
I’ll see him tomorrow.
Really see him.
Talk. Figure things out. Stop pretending.
And maybe—
Maybe I’ll get to be close to him again.
The thought lingers, warm and anticipatory.
I close my eyes for a second, letting it settle.
I can’t wait.