Chapter 17
Stella:
"I'm making sure you get inside safely." I locked the car, my tone firm. "You took a punch to the head. The doctor said to watch for dizziness."
"Ah yes, dizziness." Noah started walking toward the entrance, and I fell into step beside him. "Very dangerous. Could trip over my own feet. Fall down the stairs. Land in a compromising position that would definitely violate Title IX."
"Mr. Carter—"
"Relax, Professor. I'm kidding." He pulled open the door to the building, holding it for me with his good hand. "See? Perfect gentleman. Not dizzy at all. Completely stable and appropriate."
We made our way to the elevator. Noah pressed the button for the fourth floor.
"Fair warning," he said as the doors slid shut, "my roommates are probably still up. Tyler texted earlier asking if I wanted them to wait. I told them not to, but..." He shrugged. "They don't really listen."
The elevator was small, forcing us to stand closer than we had in the car. I could see the bruise darkening on his cheek, the careful way he held his injured hand.
"That's good," I said. "You shouldn't be alone tonight. Just in case."
"In case I suddenly develop a delayed concussion and need someone to rush me back to the hospital?"
"Something like that."
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the fourth floor. The hallway was quieter here, most students either asleep or out. Our footsteps were muffled by the industrial carpet as we walked to his door.
Noah pulled out his keys, fumbling with them for a moment before managing to unlock the door. He pushed it open, and immediately I heard voices from inside.
"Finally! Dude, where have you been?" Tyler appeared in the doorway, took one look at Noah's face, and his eyes went wide. "Holy shit. What happened?"
Marcus was right behind him. "We've been texting you for the past hour. You said you were fine!"
"I am fine," Noah said, but Tyler was already pulling him inside to get a better look at the damage.
I stayed in the hallway, watching the three of them. Tyler fussing, Marcus firing questions, Noah trying to wave them both off with his good hand.
Something in my chest loosened. He had people. Good people who cared about him and would make sure he followed the doctor's orders.
I didn't need to worry.
"Professor Morrison brought me to the health center," Noah was explaining. "The doctor said it's just bruising. Nothing serious."
Tyler looked at me, his expression grateful. "Thanks, Professor. We really appreciate it."
"The doctor gave him ibuprofen and an ice pack," I said, slipping into my professional tone easily now. "He needs to ice the injuries every hour. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off."
"Got it." Marcus was already digging through their freezer. "We have like six ice packs from last semester. Tyler's ankle thing."
"It wasn't a thing," Tyler protested. "I sprained it."
"During a game of drunk volleyball at two in the morning," Marcus added. "Definitely a thing."
Their easy banter, the comfortable way they moved around each other—it reminded me that this was Noah's world. His friends, his space, his life outside my classroom.
"Can you write?" I asked, interrupting their argument.
Noah held up his right hand. The knuckles were slightly swollen, a faint purple tinge already showing, but nothing like his left. "Right hand's fine. Just a little sore."
"And the exam is multiple choice," he added. "I can fill in bubbles."
I nodded, some tension I hadn't realized I was carrying finally releasing. The midterm. That's what I should have been worried about all along. His ability to take the exam, to not fall behind academically because of tonight.
"Good." I straightened my bag on my shoulder. "Then I'll see you tomorrow in class."
"Thanks again, Professor," Tyler said. "For taking care of him."
I nodded and turned to leave, my heels clicking against the hallway floor. I'd made it maybe five steps when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Professor?"
I turned. Noah had stepped out, leaving his door ajar. Through the gap, I could hear Tyler and Marcus debating pizza toppings.
"You forgot this," he said, holding out his hand. Empty.
I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't forget anything."
"I know." A small smile tugged at his split lip, then he winced. "I just wanted to say thanks. For tonight. For... everything."
"You should thank Tyler and Marcus," I said. "They're the ones who'll be taking care of you."
"I will. But you're the one who drove me to the hospital. Who made sure I was okay." He paused. "Who actually cared."
"Any professor would have done the same."
"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "But you did it."
I didn't know what to say to that. The hallway felt too narrow suddenly, the space between us charged with something I didn't want to name.
"Get some rest, Noah."
His name slipped out naturally this time. No panic, no immediate correction. Just... his name.
He noticed. I could see it in the way his expression softened, the way his eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary.
"You too, Professor."
From inside: "Noah! Pepperoni or sausage?"
"Both!" he called back, then looked at me again. "I should—"
"Yes. Go eat something that isn't a granola bar."
He grinned despite the split lip. "Yes, ma'am."
I watched him disappear back into his room, heard the door click shut, then turned and headed for the elevator.
My phone buzzed with a text from Emily: Thank god his hand is okay. Would've been terrible if he couldn't take his midterm tomorrow.
I stopped mid-step, staring at the message. Emily had seen it too—the swelling, the bruising, the very real possibility that Noah's academic future could have been derailed because of me.
Yeah, I typed back. Lucky break.
But it didn't feel lucky. It felt like I'd narrowly avoided a disaster that would have been entirely my fault.
---
The next morning, I arrived at the lecture hall forty minutes early. The midterm exams were already arranged on my desk—forty-two copies, each one carefully prepared, answer sheets clipped to the back.
Students began filtering in around 9:45. Some reviewed notes frantically. Others sat in meditative silence, eyes closed.
Noah arrived at 9:52.
Our eyes met briefly as he found his seat. I looked away first.
At 10:00 sharp, I stood. "You have ninety minutes. No phones, no notes, no talking. If you have questions about the wording of a question, raise your hand and I'll come to you. Begin."
The room filled with the sound of papers rustling, pens clicking, nervous exhales.
I sat at the front, ostensibly watching for cheating, but my gaze kept drifting to seat 23. Noah's head was bent over his exam, his right hand moving steadily across the page. No hesitation. No wincing.
Sixty minutes in, he set down his pen. Looked over his answers. Made a few small corrections.
Then he stood up.
The first one finished.