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Chapter 17

To say I was dreading the first day of class would be a criminal understatement. I changed my outfit three times—first a blazer that felt too stiff, then a dress that felt too much, and finally I settled on something safe: a plain pair of dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, a tailored vest, and a scarf knotted at my neck like a woman who had it all together. I didn't. I never used to care this much about what I wore to lecture, but then again, I'd never had him sitting among my students before.

Anzee, of course, was giddy about the whole thing. She all but skipped around the kitchen that morning, chattering about how cool it was that Harry Styles was going to be a student in her mum's class. I had to gently remind her—again—that I wouldn't be able to talk about him or anything class-related. Boundaries. Rules. Ethics. She pouted a little but eventually conceded, returning to her cereal and her Pinterest board of outfit ideas inspired by "Harry's airport style."

Walking into the lecture hall—something I had done literally hundreds of times before—suddenly felt like stepping into a trap. There was a tightness in my stomach, a weight that settled just behind my ribs. I'd purposely arrived just a few minutes early to avoid awkward one-on-one encounters, but as fate would have it, awkwardness had booked a front-row seat and was already waiting for me.

I placed my bag on the desk, slipped off my jacket, and started organizing my things, pretending I didn't feel like my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. Against my better judgment, I lifted my gaze—and there he was.

Front row.

Green eyes locked on me like a challenge.

Harry.

I quickly looked away, but not before catching the unmistakable curve of a smirk forming on his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.

I ducked behind the desk, fumbling for my glasses like they might somehow serve as a shield. I laid out my papers, took a breath, and made my way to the front of the desk, leaning slightly against it to keep myself grounded. I crossed one leg over the other, rubbed my hands together—textbook signs of anxiety. If any of them had read their course material already, they'd probably diagnose me on the spot.

"We've gathered quite the group," I began, scanning the auditorium of a hundred students. "One hundred registrations! That's a record for this course."

A few heads nodded, phones clicked off. A couple students straightened in their seats.

"I understand that you all signed an NDA, given that someone in this room happens to be a member of a tiny, virtually unknown music group," I said, injecting some humour in an attempt to address the elephant in the room.

A ripple of laughter moved through the auditorium, and I took that as my cue to walk toward the front row.

"Harry, welcome to our class and to the university. I'm sure your fellow students will treat you with the respect you deserve. And if they don't, well... I'm sure you have excellent legal representation."

More laughter. Even Harry chuckled, his dimples flashing in full force. The tension in my shoulders loosened by a millimetre.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cameron, for accepting me into your class," he replied smoothly, voice warm and respectful. Somehow, he still managed to make my name sound like something forbidden.

"You're welcome, Mr. Styles," I said, keeping things professional, though I avoided meeting his eyes directly. I turned back to the room.

"I want to be very clear: there will be no special treatment for anyone in this class, regardless of status, fame, or the number of Instagram followers they may have. You do the work, you get the credit. You don't, and you face the consequences. That applies to everyone." I let my gaze hover just long enough over Harry to make my point. "However, I also expect that everyone here treats each other with fairness. We're here to learn—not to gawk."