For The Love Of History

Chapter 5

▪️G R A H A M▪️

When class ended, I exhaled in relief, glad for the break. But what caught me off guard was Octavia staying put in her seat instead of leaving with everyone else.

Stealing a quick glance at her, I tried not to make it too obvious while memories of what had transpired earlier flashed through my mind. I chuckled, remembering the words on her jersey; they were undeniably funny and I just could not resist poking some light-hearted fun at her.

The situation practically begged for it. However, what truly amused me was her response, though a tad rude, I must admit. Given the circumstances, however, I supposed I had it coming.

In all my years at this university, she was the first female student to actually talk back to me in that manner. Usually, after my lectures, students either left in tears and never returned, or they giggled like infatuated teenagers, gazing at me dreamily. Octavia, on the other hand, was different. Even though she seemed distracted, she had owned up to it. Instead of being intimidated, she stood her ground. I found that surprisingly refreshing and instantly felt a sense of appreciation for her.

When I heard her voice, a musical accent washed over me, a distinct tropical cadence that piqued my curiosity about her origins. It was definitely Caribbean, sounding a bit Jamaican, but there was more to it, perhaps a blend of multiple island influences.

My attention had been on her due to her momentary lapse in focus. I often posed spontaneous questions during my lectures to engage students, wanting to keep them on their toes. It was also a technique used to gauge their interpretation of the material being discussed as well as to understand their perspectives.

I was more than aware of the reputation I had for being a bit of a hard-ass, especially with undergraduates. My philosophy was simple: If you allowed doubt to take hold, your ability to accomplish anything would forever be hindered. From our brief interaction, Octavia seemed confident in who she was, or at least in what she was saying.

When I asked her why she chose to study Scottish History, her response took me by surprise. I remembered making a small sound of acknowledgment and continuing the lecture. There was a fire in hers, a determination that shone through those intriguing eyes of hers. The way she answered me told me that she was not only highly intelligent but also had a quick wit.

This semester was shaping up to be more intriguing than I had initially anticipated. Despite myself, I found my attention drawn back to Octavia, who remained seated, unruffled, and engrossed in her lunch. It irritated me that her presence had managed to captivate my thoughts, disrupting my focus on the tasks at hand.

An internal struggle brewed within me for nearly twenty minutes. Annoyance tugged at the corners of my mind, urging me to dismiss this curiosity. But in the end, my inquisitiveness won over. I reluctantly conceded to the persistent nagging in my thoughts compelling me to get some answers.

With a sigh that might have betrayed my irritation, I decided to address the matter.

"Why are you still here?" I enquired, my tone carrying a combination of impatience and an attempt at nonchalance.

"Waiting for my next class, Sir," Octavia replied, setting her phone down.

A slight furrow appeared on my forehead as I probed further, unable to grasp the reason for her lingering. "And which class might that be?" I investigated; my curiousity piqued.

I could not quite wrap my head around the reason for her continued presence, considering she had another class to attend. A sense of bewilderment settled within me. Her response came accompanied by a sigh, a subtle yet palpable display of exasperation. Octavia's amber eyes, a hue reminiscent of polished honeyed wood, locked onto mine with an unwavering intent. The gaze she met me with held a quiet determination, as if she had already played out this interaction in her mind and was ready for any challenge it might offer.