CHAPTER 76
ARIA
Professor Lian was standing by my table, hands loosely folded in front of him, the same calm weight in his presence that always made everything else fade into the background.
My chest tightened, and I forced myself to look up, forcing a polite smile I didn’t entirely feel.
“Good morning, Aria,” he said, his voice low and even, but with that quiet attentiveness that always seemed to catch everything.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“Good morning, Professor,” I replied, my voice steadier than I expected, though my hands still trembled slightly as they adjusted my notebook on the table.
“No, not at all. I—um—I was just getting ready to start breakfast.”
He nodded, eyes briefly scanning the spread in front of me, though they quickly returned to mine.
He stepped a little closer, hands folded neatly in front of him, eyes steady on mine.
There was a calmness to him, but I could feel the undercurrent of curiosity—and maybe even worry—beneath it.
“Yesterday,” he began, his voice calm, almost soft
“You warned me… not to meet Dr. Evers,” he said, his voice steady, calm, but threaded with something gentle, almost hesitant.
“I don’t know why you said that, and I realise I brushed you off at the time. I should have listened more carefully. But now… I’d really like to understand, if you’re willing to tell me why you said those words.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
He wasn’t pushing, but the intensity of his eyes made it impossible to ignore the question, as if he genuinely wanted to understand—but didn’t want to pressure me
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers tightened around the fork in my hand, twisting it nervously as if that could steady me.
“Oh… um…” I forced a small, shaky smile.
“Actually… it was nothing, really. I shouldn’t have said those words. I… I may have exaggerated a little,”
I added quickly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I had a small disagreement with Dr. Evers, that’s… that’s why I said it. It’s already been sorted, so… no worries. I’m… I’m sorry.”
His gaze lingered on me, sharp, perceptive, and I felt like he could see right through the veil I was desperately holding up. I caught the faintest furrow in his brow, just enough to make my pulse spike.
I cleared my throat, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
“Thanks… for checking, though,” I added quickly, setting my fork down a little too forcefully, as if the clatter could distract from the flush creeping up my neck.
“I—just remembered something. I need to run....so if you'll excuse me, professor ”
He gave a slow, measured nod, eyes lingering on me with a faint question I didn’t dare to answer.
Professor Lian didn’t press further.
He watched me go, the faintest crease of concern still lingering, but he said nothing.
And I felt both relief and guilt at that silence, grateful for his discretion but frustrated with the way my own mind wouldn’t let me be normal.
By the time I reached the hallway, I was breathing shallowly, trying to gather myself, trying to shove the memory of him back into some unreachable corner of my mind.
My hands tightened around my bag strap, knuckles whitening, and I told myself over and over: Act normal. Just get through this. Don’t—don’t let anyone see.
But even as I walked, I knew I was far from composed.
Every sense of me still pulsed with him, and I had no idea how to quiet it.
...
The knock at my door was sharp enough to make me jump, even though I hadn’t been expecting anyone.
My heart thudded in my chest as I set down the book I’d been half-heartedly flipping through, telling myself it was nothing, just a visitor or a neighbour.
I opened the door, and my stomach did a curious flip.
There he was—Professor Lian. Calm, composed, but somehow… different.
There was a softness in his stance that I hadn’t seen before. In his hands, carefully held, was a small box with a clear plastic lid.
The aroma hit me before I could even speak—warm, sugary, comforting. Donuts.
“Evening, Aria,” he said, his voice carrying that usual quiet weight, but tonight it had a kind of ease I didn’t recognise.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so… I brought some doughnuts.”
I blinked, momentarily speechless.
My hand went up instinctively, resting against the doorframe.
“Oh… um… thank you,” I managed, my voice caught somewhere between surprise and amusement.
“I—I appreciate it, but I actually have plans with someone else tonight. I—” I trailed off, feeling awkward under the steady, gentle gaze he offered.
He tilted the box slightly toward me, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You don’t have to eat them now,” he said softly.
“Just… take them.”
I hesitated, my fingers brushing the edge of the box.
There was a warmth in his gesture, simple but deliberate, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest.
Against my better judgment, I accepted it.
“Alright… thank you,” I said, voice quieter this time.
My fingers lingered over the cardboard for a moment before closing it, careful not to fumble.
As I looked up at him, I couldn’t help but notice how… normal he seemed.
Not cold, not aloof, not the distant, unreachable figure I’d known in lectures and hallway encounters.
There was a quiet attentiveness in his eyes, a subtle concern in the tilt of his head. It made my stomach twist.
“You… don’t usually do things like this,” I said, unable to stop myself. My words tumbled out in a rush, mingled with curiosity and a hint of incredulity.
“Bring doughnuts to someone’s door. Ask if they’ve eaten. It’s… different.”
He gave a faint, almost shy smile.
“I suppose I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said quietly, as if the words themselves were carefully measured.
“You seemed… distracted earlier.”
I felt my cheeks warm, and I looked down at the box in my hands. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed, touched, or suspicious.
“I’m fine,” I murmured, but my voice didn’t quite carry the conviction I hoped.
“Really. I—thank you again. This is… very thoughtful.”
He nodded once, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“I’ll leave you to your evening, then,” he said finally, stepping back toward the hallway.
“Enjoy them. And… if you ever want to talk—or not talk—I’m here.”
I watched him walk away, the door clicking softly behind him. My fingers clutched the box a little tighter, and I sank back against the door, blinking.
Thoughts swirled in my mind—his presence, the gentle way he’d held the box, the unusual softness in his expression.
It didn’t match the man I thought I knew.
He had always been distant, aloof, precise.
And yet tonight… he had brought me doughnuts, checked if I’d eaten, stayed calm and polite, and left me with the quietest sort of care I hadn’t expected.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the box carefully in my lap. I didn’t open it right away. Instead,
I just held it, feeling the weight of the gesture and the strangeness of his behaviour. My mind kept drifting back to him—the unexpected tenderness, the subtle warmth, the odd flutter in my chest.
He had come to my door, just like that, and for a brief moment, it felt as if the world had narrowed to the space between us, a quiet, unspoken connection that made my pulse race and my thoughts scatter.
I shook my head slightly, trying to focus, but the box of doughnuts in my hands felt heavier than it should. Not because of the sweets inside, but because of him.
And even as I opened it, finally, and the scent of sugar and glaze filled the air, I couldn’t stop thinking: That was… different. That was him, but not him. And I don’t know what to make of it.