Between the desks

Chapter 30

Amren's POV

As Monday rolls around, the familiar routine begins again. I stretch and yawn, mentally preparing myself for another day at college. My heart is a little heavy, but I push the feeling aside as I make my way to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face, I choose my outfit carefully, wanting to strike a balance between comfortable and put-together. I slip on my favorite sweater, the soft, knitted fabric offering some warmth, but I can already feel the chill of the morning air seeping in through the window.

I pad back to the bedroom, where Jess is still asleep, her hair sprawled across the pillow in soft waves. She looks so peaceful, her lips slightly parted as she dreams, and for a moment, I hesitate, feeling a pang of longing to crawl back into bed beside her. But I know I have to go. I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, whispering, "Goodbye, love. I'll see you this afternoon." Jess stirs slightly, a smile flickering across her face, but she doesn't wake up. I smile, knowing she'll be there when I get back.

Stepping out onto the balcony, I take a moment to breathe in the fresh, crisp morning air. I light a cigarette and take a sip of my coffee, the rich flavor warming me from the inside. The sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow across the sky, but the chill still lingers in the air, biting at my exposed skin. My sweater doesn't seem warm enough, and I shiver as I draw the fabric tighter around me.

Finishing my cigarette, I grab my jacket from the nearby chair and pull it on, feeling the weight of it comfort me. As I step back inside, I pull out my phone and type a quick message to Jess, wanting to leave her a little note for when she wakes up.

"Hey babe, have a nice day! I'm off to college now. Can't wait to see you this afternoon. Love you!" I hit send and slip my phone into my pocket, feeling a little more ready for the day ahead.

The ride to campus is a blur of familiar sights. I weave through traffic, the wind whipping against my face, adrenaline coursing through me. Once I reach the parking lot, I park my bike and pull off my helmet, shaking out my messy hair. As I do, I hear a voice I hadn't heard in what feels like ages.

"You should really be more careful."

I turn around, my heart racing at the sound of the familiar voice. It's Professor Elizabeth Olsen. The morning sun filters through the trees, illuminating her features in a way that makes her look almost ethereal. Her skin seems to glow, and her eyes are bright and unbothered, a stark contrast to how she usually appears in class.

"Oh, good morning, Professor Olsen. Sorry, what were you saying?" I say, momentarily forgetting my surroundings as I focus entirely on her.

"I told you that you should be careful," she repeats, her tone carrying a slight edge that I can't quite place. There's a bitterness to her words, and it tugs at my heartstrings. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'll be more careful next time," I reply earnestly, nodding as I avoid her gaze. "See you in class."

"Yes, see you in class." Her voice is steady, but there's something lingering in the air, something unresolved. She turns to walk away, her pumps clicking sharply against the pavement, and I can't help but let my eyes wander over her. She carries herself with such poise, and even in her crisp professional attire, there's an undeniable elegance about her.

"Wow, what was that all about?" Suddenly, Lily appears at my side, her voice breaking through my thoughts. "Oh my god, you scared the living shit out of me," I exclaim, clutching my chest in mock distress. My heart is still racing, but not just from the surprise—seeing Professor Olsen had stirred something inside me.

"Let's go, we have five minutes. Otherwise, the icy bitch will verbally kill us," Lily quips, starting to walk toward the building. I can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Professor Olsen, despite Lily's teasing. She doesn't deserve to be ridiculed.

I quicken my pace to catch up to Lily, and we walk together toward the classroom. As we enter, we slip into our usual seats in the front row. I can't shake the feeling of unease that has settled in my chest. "Let the murdering begin," Lily whispers, grinning mischievously.

"Shhh!" I chuckle, playfully pushing her in the side. She gives me the finger, and we both laugh quietly as we wait for class to start.

"Good morning, class!" Professor Olsen's icy voice cuts through the chatter as she walks into the room, her presence instantly commanding attention. A few students let out audible sighs, and I can see the tension in her posture. She seems more rigid today than usual, and I can't help but wonder why. What had happened to make her so tense?

I steal a glance at her, taking in the sharp lines of her suit and the way her hair is pulled back neatly. I feel a pang of guilt wash over me. She's not just the professor; she's a person too. I remember the way she looked this morning, how her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. It makes me wonder—what kind of burdens does she carry behind that authoritative exterior?

As the lecture begins, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. Every word that leaves her mouth seems to carry a weight, and the icy barrier she puts up feels thicker than ever. My mind drifts back to our brief encounter in the parking lot, the way her eyes had softened, even if just for a moment. Was I imagining things? Or was there something deeper beneath the surface?

The class drags on, and as I try to focus on the lecture, I find myself lost in thought. The questions swirl in my mind, but one thing is for certain: I need to know more about the woman behind the title, the icy professor who has somehow managed to capture my attention in ways I never expected.

That's when it struck me: I need help. Not just with my English class but with everything swirling in my head. The weight of my grades and the pressure to succeed had been building, and I could no longer pretend I could handle it alone.

I glanced at Professor Olsen at the front of the room, her presence both commanding and intimidating. She was brilliant, the kind of professor who pushed students to excel. If anyone could help me untangle my confusion, it was her.

But as the realization set in, anxiety crept in. The thought of approaching her felt daunting. What if she turned me down? Would she view my struggle as weakness? Her icy demeanor in class didn't help; I could imagine her sharp gaze cutting through me as I stood there, vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to quell my nerves. Asking for help was a sign of strength, I reminded myself. Everyone struggles at some point, and there was no shame in reaching out. Still, the fear of rejection loomed large.

I pictured myself walking into her office, heart pounding. Would she be annoyed? Would she dismiss my request? But I knew the stakes were high. If I didn't take this chance, I risked falling further behind. The thought of disappointing my friends and family was unbearable.

Glancing around the room, I felt like an imposter among my confident peers. But with a surge of determination, I straightened my back. I couldn't let fear hold me back any longer. I had to confront my anxieties head-on.

It was time to speak to Professor Olsen. I needed to explain my struggles and ask for her guidance. No matter how anxious I felt, I was determined to push through that discomfort. I couldn't afford to give up on myself—not now, not ever.