Am I pushing your boundaries?

CALEB

Professor Elliot came back on a Wednesday.

The hallway outside was quieter than usual, a couple of students lingering near the door . One of them leaned toward the other and whispered, “He’s back.”

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Ward stood at the front of the room, flipping through a stack of papers.

The cane leaned against the desk within reach, and the injured leg was stiff when he shifted his weight, but otherwise he looked the same.

I dropped into my usual seat halfway back.

For a split second, his eyes lifted. They met mine. And then they moved on.

Just like that. No reaction. Nothing that suggested we’d crossed paths in a club two nights ago while he sat there trying very hard to pretend I didn’t exist.

“Open your books,” Ward said, setting the papers down.

He started writing on the board, moving carefully but refusing to reach for the cane. The stiffness was obvious if you were looking for it.

Which, apparently, I was.

I leaned back in my chair and watched him.

The man had been gone two weeks because of that ankle, and the first thing he did after coming back was teach like nothing had happened.

Stubborn didn’t even begin to cover it.

The marker scratched across the board.

“Literature,” Ward began, “often focuses on conflict created by boundaries.”

“Social expectations. Personal rules. Lines people believe should not be crossed.”

That got my attention. Because the timing of that statement felt suspiciously convenient.

My pen tapped against my notebook.

Ward continued speaking, explaining some example from the assigned reading, but part of my brain was stuck on the memory of him sitting in that club, gripping his glass like the world’s most irritated man while I refused to leave.

He hadn’t exactly enjoyed that encounter.

Actually, that was putting it mildly.

“Mr. Foster.”

My pen stopped tapping.

Ward stood near the front row now, arms loosely folded.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Would you care to share your thoughts?”

“On what?”

A few students snickered.

“On the discussion we’ve been having for the last five minutes.”

Right. That.

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

“Boundaries,” I said.

“That’s the topic, right?”

“Yes.”

“People cross them.”

“And?”

“And sometimes they don’t mean to.”

Finally, he nodded once.

“A simplistic interpretation,” he said calmly, “but not entirely correct. "

I gave a small shrug.

The lecture moved on.But every now and then I caught Ward glancing in my direction. Which, honestly, made the whole thing more entertaining.

By the time class ended, students were already packing up their bags. Ward leaned against the desk, flipping through the attendance sheet.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and stood.

“Mr. Foster.”

“Yes, Professor?”

The last few students got out of the room, leaving us alone.Ward setting the attendance sheet down.

His expression was perfectly neutral.

“Stay a moment.”

I walked towards the front of the room, stopping a few feet from the desk.

“How’s the ankle?” I asked casually.

“It’s healing.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re enjoying it.”

“That’s hardly unusual.”

I nodded towards the cane.

“Nice accessory.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s temporary.”

“Sure.”

A quiet pause settled between us.

“You seemed distracted during the lecture.”

“Practice ran late.”

“That excuse sounds familiar.”

“Funny how that works.”

Then Ward said calmly, “You also seemed unusually interested in the topic of boundaries.”

I tilted my head.

“Maybe I just happen to like the subject.”

“I doubt that.”

I grinned slightly.

“Maybe I just enjoy testing them.”

Ward didn’t smile. But the look he gave me suggested he understood exactly what I meant. And exactly what I was referencing.

The club. The conversation. The awkward silence that followed.

“Mr. Foster.”

“What?”

“The events of the other evening—”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Which ones?”

“You know precisely which ones.”

“Just making sure.”

Ward leaned back against the desk, clearly resisting the urge to look annoyed.

“That situation remains… private.”

“Relax, Professor.”

His eyes sharpened.

“I am perfectly relaxed.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Then he said, very evenly, “You appear to enjoy being a nuisance.”

“Only when it’s effective.”

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Foster.”

I grabbed my bag and turned towards the door. But just before I stepped into the hallway, I glanced back.

Ward had already picked up the attendance sheet again, acting as if the conversation had never happened. Like we were exactly what we were supposed to be.

Professor.

Student.

The irritated look he’d given me said one thing very clearly.

For some reason, he couldn’t quite get rid of me.

And honestly?

That might’ve been my favorite part.