Alpha’s Desire 2

Even though the sun had only just risen, that morning felt unusually long. Zaria stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at her reflection without really seeing it. As time slowly ticked by, her thoughts drifted back to a single place: Damian’s office.

Zaria remembered it all too vividly: his cold gaze, the narrow space between them, and his low voice that still lingered in her ears. Sometimes, in the middle of simple routines such as packing her books or rolling up her sleeves, she would suddenly freeze, as if her body itself refused to forget.

“Relax.”

That was what Damian had said to Zaria. Just one ordinary-sounding word, yet it echoed endlessly in her head, taking on a meaning she couldn’t quite grasp.

Zaria took a deep breath and studied her own face for a while. Pale. Her eyes looked tired, and, for some reason, her cheeks grew warm just from recalling the way Damian had looked at her.

Zaria shook her head lightly, trying to dispel the image. “Forget it. It was just a coincidence,” she whispered, as if trying to convince herself. Unfortunately, she could hear Iris's voice in her memory again, from the corridor yesterday.

“No wonder Professor Damian keeps looking at you longer than the others. Maybe he knows you’re the type of student who’s… interesting.”

Zaria closed her eyes. The words stung, not because she believed them, but because... what if they were true? What if Damian had been watching her more often than she realised? She’d never noticed it herself, yet Iris—and maybe others—had seen something she hadn’t.

The blare of her alarm clock brought her back to reality. Zaria jumped, grabbed her bag and hurriedly shoved her notebook inside.

Today’s class was Psychology of Perception and Consciousness. Ironic, she thought. A lesson about how humans interpret reality, when her own reality felt so blurred.

*

The classroom wasn’t big, just a neat arrangement of wooden desks in three rows. The air inside felt colder than usual; perhaps this was because the air conditioning was set too low, or perhaps it was due to the presence of the man standing at the front.

Damian was already there when Zaria walked in. He was standing near the lecturer’s desk, the light from the window cutting across part of his face and sharpening the cold lines around his eyes as he flipped through several sheets of notes without really reading them.

Zaria lowered her gaze and chose a seat in the middle row. She tried to stay calm, inhaling slowly as she took out her notebook. Even without looking up, she could sense that Damian had turned his head towards her for the briefest of moments—a glance too fleeting to count as attention, yet too palpable to ignore.

The creak of chairs filled the room as the other students settled in and murmured softly to each other. But the moment Damian began to speak, every sound vanished.

“We often believe that perception is reality,” Damian said evenly. His voice was deep yet clear. “But what if reality is nothing more than the product of a distorted perception?'

Damian paused, letting the words sink into the silence. His gaze swept slowly across the room as though assessing who would dare respond.

No one spoke. For a brief second, the air felt still.

“Maybe…” Zaria murmured, “... because sometimes what we feel seems more real than anything we can see.”

Every head turned towards her at once. Regret hit her instantly. She hadn’t meant to speak, but the words had slipped out, and now Damian’s eyes were fixed on her, steady and unreadable.

“A bold statement, Miss Carrington,” Damian said calmly, though his tone carried a sharp edge. “However, psychology is not a place for interpreting feelings.”

Zaria felt heat flood her cheeks. She lowered her head, silently cursing herself. Her fingers tightened around the pen as she tried to swallow the embarrassment burning inside her. But before she could think further, Damian's voice came again—lower, deeper and somehow heavier this time.

“Then again...” Damian began, pausing for a moment, “...sometimes, perception is born from feelings.”

Zaria slowly lifted her gaze. Damian wasn’t looking in any particular direction, but she knew the last sentence hadn’t been addressed to the whole class. The corner of his mouth moved slightly, yet there was something in his eyes—something not at all academic—that made the room feel smaller somehow.

The rest of the lecture dragged on. Damian spoke evenly, occasionally writing on the board; his tone was measured and calm. But Zaria barely absorbed a word. Each time his voice filled the air, something in her mind trembled for reasons she couldn’t explain.

Zaria knew she should focus, but how could she when every word he said felt like a quiet push against her thoughts?

The class ended without much discussion. Damian closed his book and said simply, “Next session, we'll discuss the mechanism of the consciousness illusion. Read the journal I’ve uploaded to the system. You may go now.”

The students immediately stood up and started packing their things away. The room filled again with the sound of chairs scraping and footsteps shuffling. Zaria waited a few seconds before rising, ensuring that she wouldn't leave with anyone else. She passed the lecturer’s desk, where Damian was still standing, writing in his notes.

Damian didn’t turn towards her, yet she could feel his gaze on her again. It was the same look as yesterday: cold, yet carrying something beneath the surface.

Zaria lowered her head and quickened her pace. Her breathing became uneven, as if the classroom were not a place of learning, but a place that drained her strength.

*

The faculty hallway felt far too long that afternoon. Sunlight poured through the tall glass panels, scattering reflections across the marble floor. Zaria walked slowly, clutching her books to her chest. Her heart beat in an uncontrollable, strange rhythm.

Zaria tried to convince herself that the class had been ordinary; nothing more. But Damian’s gaze kept coming back to haunt her. To her, that look hadn’t been the mere supervision of a professor towards a student; it had been something else. Something she didn’t dare name.

Zaria descended the stairs towards the administration floor. She needed to pick up a letter from her department—a simple errand that should have been enough to distract her from the weight pressing on her chest.

The administrative office wasn’t crowded. Two members of staff were busy behind their desks; the clacking of their keyboards blended with the low hum of the photocopier. Zaria stood before the glass counter and quietly stated her name.

“Zaria Rose Carrington, from the Clinical Psychology programme.”

One of the staff members searched through a rack of documents to the left. “Ah, here it is—the advisor assignment letter. It was issued this morning.” He handed her a thin blue folder. “Please check it.”

Zaria nodded politely. “Thank you,” she said softly, stepping aside to the corner of the room. She carefully opened the folder and scanned the page. Her eyes widened as soon as they reached the bottom:

Professor Damian Aberforth.

Her fingers tightened around the folder until the edge crumpled slightly. She reread the line just to make sure she hadn’t misread it. But the name remained there, clear and undeniable, almost mocking her disbelief.

Why him?

Zaria couldn’t comprehend why the department had assigned Damian as her thesis advisor, out of all the professors in the Faculty of Psychology. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen now that he was officially her thesis advisor. Yesterday, she had barely managed to keep her composure in front of him, and now it seemed as if fate was determined to throw them back together.

Zaria quickly closed the folder. A tightness spread across her chest. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was as if the air was resisting entering her lungs.

“No,” she told herself firmly. “Don’t panic here.”

Zaria stepped out of the office, forcing her breathing to steady. But she had only taken a few steps when the sound of approaching footsteps made her stop.

Damian stood in the corridor by the window. The late-afternoon light reflected off the thin lenses of his glasses, concealing part of his eyes. His face was as it always was: cold and almost expressionless.

And yet, somehow, Zaria felt that he already knew. The realisation sent a rush of blood to her head.

“Miss Carrington,” Damian said quietly. His tone was the same as in class: low and steady, but carrying a certain weight. “Is something wrong?”

Zaria glanced down at the folder in her hands, then looked up at him briefly. “No, nothing, Professor.”

“Really?” Damian stepped closer. The sound of his shoes echoing sharply against the marble floor grew louder as he approached. “Your face looks different from earlier in class. Has something happened?”

Zaria kept her gaze lowered. “No, I just went to the administration office. There was a letter I had to pick up.”

Damian stopped right in front of her, leaving only a small space between them. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he asked in the same calm tone, “What letter?'

Zaria steadied herself, doing her best not to falter. But it was difficult, because she could feel something cold radiating from him. Not the chill of air conditioning, but a kind of distance that seemed to swallow the air between them. “The thesis advisor assignment.”

Damian didn’t react right away. After a few seconds of silence, he looked down at the blue folder in her hands. “May I see it?'

Zaria had no choice but to hand it over. He opened the folder and scanned the page quickly. The corner of his mouth moved slightly—not quite a smile, nor quite surprise, but something in between.

“It seems we’ll be seeing each other quite often, Miss Carrington.”

His voice was flat, but to Zaria, it echoed against the walls of her chest. “I understand, Professor.”

Damian closed the folder and handed it back to her. “Make sure you’re prepared. Thesis supervision isn’t an easy process.”

Zaria took the folder with both hands, trying to stop her fingers from trembling. “I’ll do my best.”

Damian nodded once. “Good.”

The unexpected remark—if it could even be called a compliment—made Zaria glance up for a moment, and their eyes met again for the first time that afternoon. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough to make the tightness in her chest return, despite her thinking it had eased.

Zaria quickly looked down. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, Professor.”

Zaria walked past him, quickening her pace until she was nearly running. Her footsteps echoed between the stone walls and her breathing was uneven. She didn’t dare look back. All she wanted was distance—space to breathe, to think and to steady herself.

Meanwhile, Damian didn’t move. He stood where he was, watching Zaria’s retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner of the corridor. His gaze was unreadable, a mixture of restraint and something far deeper. Slowly, he drew in a breath, holding back whatever stirred within him.

For a moment, silence filled the corridor. Only the faint ticking of his wristwatch broke it.

Damian knew he shouldn’t pay attention to Zaria like that. But there was something about her that defied logic; something that his scientific understanding could never explain. The scentless human had stirred the most primal instinct inside him, shaking the control he had spent years perfecting.

Damianclosed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to regain his composure—just as a set of approaching footsteps broke the quiet.

“Is she the one, Alpha?”

*