For The Love Of History

Chapter 11

▪️G R A H A M▪️

I had just finished a gruelling hour-long run and was making my way back home when nearing the St. Gilean's Cathedral, I caught the echoes of a woman's distressed voice.

A lover's quarrel seemed to be escalating into something more, and without hesitation, I rushed over. Arriving just in the nick of time, I witnessed the woman turning the situation around, reducing the man to a battered figure on the ground.

I winced as the man received a punishing blow to the groin, "That's definitely going to hurt!"

Approaching the scene, I extended my hand to offer consolation to the woman, unaware that I was on the brink of encountering the force of her fury firsthand. As my hand neared her, I could feel the intensity of her emotions, like a storm ready to unleash and I narrowly escaped her oncoming fist.

To my astonishment, I recognized the woman—it was Octavia!

Anger had surged through me at the thought of someone attempting to attack her. The urge to retaliate against Brian clawed at me, fuelled by a protective instinct that had welled up within me. As Octavia's professor, I felt a responsibility to ensure her safety, but the realization struck me that being involved in a physical altercation with a student would not be the right course of action.

Instead, I had decided to let the campus police handle the situation. I knew that Brian would likely face expulsion after the incident. It was a difficult choice, but maintaining a professional image was crucial, even in the face of personal outrage.

Refusing to let Octavia walk home alone, I accompanied her all the way to her dorm.

When we arrived, an unexpected impulse overcame me, leading me to utter words I had not planned to say. For some inexplicable reason, an undeniable urge swept over me, compelling me to insist that she address me by my first name whenever we were not within the confines of the classroom.

It was a peculiar choice; one I could not quite fathom myself.

Whatever the reason, the words escaped my lips, and I found myself standing firm in my decision. It was a small request, yet it held a significance that even I struggled to comprehend.

I acknowledged that it was not merely about a change in formality; it would mark a subtle yet profound shift in the dynamics of our relationship. This small deviation from the usual professional decorum seemed to unravel a complex web of emotions.

"Err, alright." Octavia said with a shy smile, "Thank you, Graham."

The way she said my name sent a sudden jolt through me. Her voice, a melodic cascade, washed over me, sending an electric burst up my spine and down to my core. Her distinct Caribbean accent proved to be my undoing.

Feeling the surge of emotions her presence invoked, I shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. With a slightly nervous energy, my hand instinctively ran through my hair, a futile attempt to regain composure and quell the involuntary reactions sparked by her mere proximity.

"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked, my concern evident.

"Yes," she replied, her amber eyes meeting mine. "It's not my first rodeo with men who can't take no for an answer."

A heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach as I nodded in understanding. A twinge of sadness clouded my grey-blue eyes, reflecting both sympathy for Octavia's past struggles and a silent acknowledgment of the pervasive issue at hand.

In that moment, words felt inadequate, and the shared silence conveyed a mutual recognition of the harsh realities that women in our society had to face