Forbidden Pages

Chapter 4: Hidden Messages

Emma couldn't ignore the shift between them, the quiet but undeniable pull she felt every time she caught Ryland's eye in class. By now, she was fully aware of the effect he had on her, and each shared glance only heightened her awareness. But she'd kept her resolve firm—nothing would happen between them. It was a crush, a fleeting attraction. And yet, a voice inside her kept saying otherwise.

A few days later, she found herself back in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. She was halfway through her latest essay when a familiar voice broke her concentration.

"Let me guess—Hawthorne again?"

Emma looked up, her pulse quickening at the sight of Ryland standing beside her table, holding a thick stack of papers. Today, he was dressed in a dark sweater and jeans, a casual look that made him seem younger, almost like one of the students.

"Actually, it's Melville," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as he set his papers down and took a seat across from her.

"Melville?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Tackling the big leagues, I see."

Emma grinned. "What can I say? I like a challenge."

Ryland's smile widened, and he leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. "You know, you're one of the few students I've met who isn't intimidated by these authors. Most people stick with the classics to check a box, but you actually seem to enjoy it."

"Maybe I just enjoy the chase," she replied, and immediately regretted the words. It was an innocent enough comment, but something about the way Ryland's gaze softened made her feel as though they both knew it hinted at something else entirely.

After a pause, Ryland nodded, shifting the conversation back to her assignment. They discussed her latest ideas, his comments thoughtful and insightful as he pointed out angles she hadn't considered. Emma couldn't help but admire how his mind worked, the way he could look at a text and pull something meaningful from a single line.

But as they talked, she noticed something different about him—a slight tension, as though he was holding back, carefully choosing his words.

"Thank you for the feedback, Professor," she said finally, closing her notebook. "I really appreciate it."

Ryland glanced around the library, as if to make sure they were still alone. Then, his gaze returned to hers, and his voice softened. "Emma, I think by now, you can call me Ryland."

Emma blinked, taken aback. She'd never heard a professor invite a student to use their first name—not in a casual setting like this. But the familiarity of it thrilled her, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

"Ryland," she repeated, testing the sound of it. She felt a small thrill at saying his name, like she was crossing an invisible line.

Ryland's eyes lingered on her, and for a moment, the air between them felt thick with something unsaid. She sensed that he was about to say something, something that would change everything. But before he could speak, a voice interrupted them.

"Professor Monroe!"

They both turned to see a group of students entering the library, chatting loudly. Ryland's expression shifted, the easy warmth fading as he straightened, as if remembering himself. Emma felt her stomach drop, the moment slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"I should go," he said, his voice returning to its usual professional tone. He gathered his papers, his gaze flicking back to hers for just a moment before he stood.

Emma watched him leave, her heart sinking as she realized how quickly they'd both had to retreat back to their roles. But just as he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze with a look that said everything he hadn't.

The rest of the day was a blur. Emma tried to focus on her studies, but her mind kept drifting back to Ryland and the look in his eyes. It felt like they'd been on the edge of something, but she couldn't tell if it was only in her imagination or if he'd felt it too.

That night, she found herself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as her mind replayed their conversation over and over. She was teetering on the edge, caught between the undeniable attraction she felt for him and the rational voice in her head that kept telling her to let it go.

But no matter how hard she tried, the attraction refused to fade.

The Next Day

Emma arrived early for class the next morning, taking her usual seat by the window. She was nervous, her mind racing as she waited for him to arrive. She knew she couldn't keep doing this—wondering, waiting, hoping for something she couldn't define. But every time she resolved to move on, she remembered the warmth in his eyes, the way he'd said her name, and she found herself right back where she'd started.

When Ryland entered the room, she felt her pulse quicken. He looked calm, composed, the perfect picture of professionalism. But as he took his seat at the front, his gaze flicked toward her, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Emma felt the familiar spark between them, that silent understanding that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface.

The lecture began, and Emma tried her best to focus. But her mind kept drifting, her attention pulled back to him over and over again. She felt like she was walking a tightrope, caught between the world of academia and something deeper, something more dangerous.

As class wrapped up, Ryland paused, glancing at her with a look that was both hesitant and inviting. Emma felt her heart race, wondering if he was about to say something—if he was about to finally break the silence between them.

But instead, he simply nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

"Good work today, Emma," he said, his tone casual but his gaze lingering a moment too long.

Emma nodded, her heart pounding as she gathered her things. She left the classroom with a sense of anticipation, feeling as though they were standing on the brink of something, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

Outside the lecture hall, she found a small note tucked into her book. She hadn't noticed it before, but when she unfolded it, her breath caught in her throat.

"Meet me at The Grind after class tomorrow. We need to talk."

It wasn't signed, but she knew exactly who it was from. The handwriting was unmistakable, the letters scrawled in his familiar script. Her heart raced as she reread the note, her mind filling with questions.

What did he want to talk about? Was he finally going to address the tension between them, the connection they both seemed to feel but had never spoken about?

Emma clutched the note to her chest, a mix of excitement and nerves flooding her. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

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A new connection is forming, but at what cost? Read on to see how Emma and Ryland's story unfolds.