CHAPTER ONE

The lecture hall was full before class even started. It did not feel like any normal classroom. It felt like a waiting room before something bad happened. Voices were talking around me. Chairs were scraping against the floor as students moved around unable to sit. Someone in the back of the room burst out laughing. Quickly stopped and whispered to themselves like they forgot where they were. People were staring at their phones, some recording, some texting, others just staring at nothing. There was a kind of feeling in the room like…the feeling you get before a big storm.

I was sitting in the third row. My notebook opened on my lap, my pen resting in my hand. I had written the date at the top of the page. That was it. I could not make myself start writing.

Then I heard a girl behind me whisper "He is coming today."

"Who?" another voice asked.

"Dr. Adrian Cole."

There was a moment of silence after that. The kind of silence that happens when someone says a name that means something.

"The one who said love is not real?"

My fingers stopped moving around my pen.

Not real?

"That is what people say " the first voice replied, quietly and certainly. "He does not believe in relationships. He has never been married. He has never been seen with anyone."

"That is strange” someone muttered.

"No!” another voice said quietly to themselves. "That is scary."

I looked toward the front of the room. The board was empty. The desk was clean. The door was still closed.

I did not understand why my chest already felt tight.

It is a lecture I told myself. Just another professor.

Then the door opened.

The noise in the room stopped at once. Every single voice stopped at the moment like someone had turned off a switch.

Dr. Adrian Cole walked in.

He did not look around the room.

He did not nod at anyone.

He did not smile.

He moved with a kind of calm that felt like he was in control like nothing in the room was important enough to bother him. He was tall with posture and a dark coat over his shoulders. His steps were slow and quiet. They still made an impact.

He reached the desk, set his notes down and picked up a marker.

No greeting.

No introduction.

No good morning.

He turned to the board. Wrote one word.

LOVE.

I stared at it.

Something about it felt wrong, not the word itself. The way he wrote it. The letters were sharp and clean like the word meant nothing to him.

He turned around slowly.

His eyes moved across the room looking at faces without stopping. Not curious. Not warm. Just looking.

"Let us begin,” he said.

His voice was not loud. It filled the room easily.

"Today we are discussing love."

A few students moved around. Someone coughed softly. Fingers moved across keyboards trying to keep up.

I did not write.

I watched him.

He let the quiet sit for a moment longer than felt comfortable.

Then he said, "It is not real."

The words landed quietly. They hit hard.

A ripple moved through the room instantly. Someone let out a laugh. Another student frowned. A few people looked at each other checking if anyone else had heard what they heard.

He continued like nothing had been said.

"Love” he said, moving slowly across the front of the room "is a reaction. A series of chemical processes in the brain that create attachment and encourage reproduction."

He stopped near the edge of the desk.

"Dopamine creates pleasure, " he said, like he was reading a list. "Oxytocin builds bonding. Serotonin stabilizes states."

His tone did not change. Did not fall, Steady, certain, flat.

"These are measurable, " he said. "Predictable." He paused briefly. "Temporary."

I moved in my seat.

Temporary.

"That feeling people describe as love,” he continued, turning slowly "is simply the brain responding to stimuli. It begins. It peaks." He paused again. "Then it fades."

Something lived inside that word.

Fades.

It was not louder. Was not softer.. It carried weight that the other words did not.

The hall had gone completely still now. No laughter. No whispers. Just attention, the kind that pulls your body forward without asking permission.

"People mistake attachment for permanence, " he said. "They call it love. They believe it will last."

He paused.

Then gently he said, "It never does."

My chest tightened fast and I almost pressed my hand against it.

No.

That was not true. It could not be that simple. It was not that simple and something in me refused to sit and let it pass.

Before I thought it through, my hand was already in the air.

Heads turned toward me immediately. I felt the eyes, row after row of them. I did not pull my hand down. I kept it up. Kept my gaze on Dr. Adrian Cole.

His eyes found me.

Sharp. Direct. Not surprised.

"Yes?" he said.

My throat felt dry. I pushed the words forward anyway.

"That is not true.”

Low voices popped up around. “She’s actually…” one person started, but stopped.

I did not look away from Dr. Adrian Cole.

He tilted his head slightly studying me with measured interest. Not annoyed. Not amused. Just observing.

"Explain, " he said.

I pulled in a breath. Steadied myself.

"If love is chemical, " I said, "then why do people stay when it becomes difficult?" My voice grew steadier as I spoke like the words were holding me up. "Why do they choose each other when there is no benefit? When it does hurts? When it is inconvenient? When every logical reason says walk and they still do not?"

Someone shifted. A chair squeaked.

"That is not biology, " I said. "That is a choice.. Chemicals do not make choices. People do."

Silence pressed down on the room.

He took one step forward.

"Choice " he repeated.

"Yes."

His eyes did not leave mine. For a moment it felt like the room had folded itself away and left only the two of us standing in whatever space remained.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked.

The question landed differently than I expected. My fingers tightened around my pen.

I nodded.

"Yes."

"And how did it end?" he asked.

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. The silence felt heavier than before.

Something moved through my chest, old and quiet and still a little sharp around the edges.

"That does not matter, " I said.

"It does, " he replied, without hesitation.

"No " I shook my head slightly. "It means people make mistakes. It does not mean love is not real."

He watched me closely. Too closely. Like he was reading something behind my face rather than my words. For one second something moved through his eyes. Not softness exactly. Something that sat near it.

Then it was gone.

He walked back to the board. Uncapped the marker. Wrote one word beneath the first.

ILLUSION.

"Interesting,” he said, his voice level again carrying nothing.

"Incorrect."

Quiet laughter scattered through the room. A few smirks. Someone shook their head.

Heat rose to my face. I did not look down.

The rest of the lecture continued. Words filled the room, theories, studies, language dressed up in long sentences.. I barely heard any of it. My mind stayed on Dr. Adrian Cole. On the way he said it never does. Not like a theory. Not like an idea he was testing. Like a fact he had already finished proving a time ago in a place no one in this room had been.

When class ended the room exhaled at once. Chairs scraped, conversations erupted, people gathered bags and coats. Moved toward the door.

"That was intense."

"He is actually insane."

"I do not know he might be right."

I sat there for a moment watching him gather his things at the front of the room. He seemed calm like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Like he had not just shaken the room.

I got up. Started walking down the steps towards him. My feet felt heavy like they did not want to move. He knew I was coming. I could tell by the way his jaw tensed up. He did not look up.

"Do you always argue with your professors?" he asked, still not looking at me.

"Only when they are wrong. " I said.

He stopped what he was doing. Slowly put his papers down. Then he looked up at me. His eyes were really cold, not empty, just closed off. Like he had locked all his feelings away and thrown away the key.

"You seem sure of yourself. " he said.

"You seem sure of yourself too. " I replied.

There was this tension between us like a thin string that could snap at any moment.

"You believe in love? " he asked.

"Yes I do. " I said.

"Why?" he asked.

I paused, not because I did not know the answer. Because it felt weird to say it out loud.

"Because I have felt it. " I said.

He just kept looking at me and his face did not change.

"And yet you are here alone, not with the person you loved. " he said.

His words hit me in a way I did not expect. It felt like he was talking about something that still hurt.

I swallowed hard.

"Just because something ends does not mean it was not real " I said, my voice a little quieter now.

There was silence for a moment. He just kept looking at me.

"You are wrong. " he said finally.

"And you are scared. " I said.

The air in the room fell all of a sudden. His face did not change but something in his eyes moved like it was a warning.

"Be careful, " he said, his voice low.

"Of what?" I asked.

"Of assuming things " he said.

I kept looking at him. I did not blink.

"Then prove me wrong. " I said.

The silence that followed was weird; it felt like an answer.

Then he took a step closer to me. Not a big step, a small one…It felt like something was pressing in on us.

"I might" he said, his voice a little now.

Before I could say anything he picked up his things. Walked past me. He stopped next to me close enough that I could feel how still he was.

"Next lectures” he said quietly without turning to look at me.

"Do not be late.” he said.

Then he walked away. The door closed and just like that he was gone.

I stood there for a moment feeling weird and confused. Part of me was annoyed, part of me was unsettled.

I turned to leave. Then I saw something on the desk. A small piece of paper folded up. It was where his notes had been. I was sure it was not there before.

I walked back. Picked it up, unfolding it slowly.

There were three words on it; Love is coming.

I felt a surge of surprise my breath caught on me.

I looked up fast towards the door. There was no one there.

I looked back at the paper. The handwriting was neat and sharp; it was his.

Below the words in small letters was a date; three days from now.