The lecturer where he Pretends He Doesn’t Know Me

If panic had a physical form, it would look exactly like me sitting in this lecture hall.

Dr Adrian Hale stands at the front of the room as though nothing unusual has ever happened in his life. As though he didn't kiss one of his students in a rain-soaked alley two nights ago. As though that student isn't currently sitting five rows back trying not to combust.

Professional composure. Flawless. Infuriating.

"Materials engineering," he begins, writing on the board, "is the foundation of modern civilisation."

His voice is calm. Controlled. Academic. No trace of the man who held my waist in the rain. No trace of the man who said he wouldn't be able to stop.

I sit perfectly still.

Freya leans toward me. "Okay, why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

Because technically I kissed the ghost.

"I'm fine."

"Your face says otherwise."

Dr Hale turns slightly as he continues explaining crystal structures. My heart immediately sprints. He's not looking at me. He's looking around the room. But somehow it still feels personal.

Focus, Céline. You came to Edinburgh for a degree, not a romantic disaster.

I open my notebook and start writing. Atomic bonding. Lattice structure. Do not make eye contact with the professor you accidentally kissed.

Freya raises an eyebrow at my page. "Interesting study technique."

"Very advanced."

At the front, Dr Hale continues smoothly. He's brilliant. Annoyingly brilliant. The lecture is clear, structured, confident. Students nod along. Of course the mysterious alley man would also be an excellent lecturer. Because apparently the universe enjoys dramatic irony.

Halfway through, he pauses. "Before we continue, I'd like to know who here is new to the programme this year."

Hands go up. Mine included.

He nods. Then his gaze sweeps across the room. And lands on me. Just for a second. Long enough to confirm that yes, he remembers.

My stomach flips.

But his expression remains completely neutral. Professional. Detached.

He looks away.

I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding.

Freya whispers again. "You are definitely hiding something."

"Am not."

"You look like you're about to faint."

"I twisted my ankle yesterday."

"That explains the limp," she says thoughtfully. "Not the existential crisis."

Fair.

At the front, Dr Hale moves to the next slide. "Now," he says, "let's discuss material failure."

Oh, the irony.

For the next thirty minutes I focus desperately on taking notes. Anything to stop thinking about that night. The rain. The alley. The way he looked at me right before—

No. Stop.

The lecture finally ends. Students begin packing. Relief floods my system. Escape plan: leave immediately.

I grab my notebook. Stand carefully. My ankle protests.

"Careful," Freya says.

"I'm fine."

Lies. But survival instincts kick in. If I leave fast enough, I can avoid—

"Miss Laurent."

My blood turns to ice.

The voice comes from the front. Dr Hale is looking directly at me. The entire room pauses.

Freya whispers, "Oh, you're in trouble."

I slowly turn around. "Yes?"

His expression is perfectly calm. Professional. As though we are simply lecturer and student.

"Your ankle," he says evenly. "You appear to be injured."

The room's attention shifts to my limp. Heat rushes to my face.

"I'm fine."

A brief pause. Then he says something that makes my heart stop.

"You might want to be more careful in dark alleys."

Silence.

Freya turns slowly toward me. "Dark alleys?"

I stare at him. He stares back. That faint almost-smile appears for half a second. Then it's gone.

"Class dismissed."

Students begin leaving, chatting. Freya grabs my arm.

"Céline."

"Yes?"

"You are explaining that immediately."

I glance toward the front. Dr Hale is packing his notes calmly. As though he didn't just publicly hint that he knows exactly where I was last night.

"Later," I mutter. "I'll explain later."

Freya narrows her eyes but nods. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that."

She heads toward the door, glancing back once with a knowing look.

I should follow her. I know I should follow her.

Instead I linger. Pretend to organise my bag. Wait until the last students filter out.

The door closes.

We're alone.

He doesn't look up from his notes. "You should go."

"I know."

"And yet you're still here."

"I know that too."

He finally looks at me. Those grey eyes are unreadable. But his jaw is tight.

"That was reckless," I say quietly. "What you said. In front of everyone."

"Probably."

"Why did you?"

He sets down his pen. Rests his hands on the lectern. For a moment he just looks at me.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd react."

My breath catches. "That's cruel."

"Is it?" His voice drops. "You've been sitting there for an hour pretending I don't exist. I wanted to remind you that I do."

"That's dangerous."

"Yes." No denial. No deflection. Just agreement.

I grip my bag strap tighter. "What do you want, Dr Hale?"

The title lands between us like a wall. He flinches. Barely. But I see it.

"I want," he says slowly, "to pretend this isn't happening."

"And is it? Happening?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead he rounds the lectern. Takes a step toward me. Then stops. Deliberate distance.

"You tell me," he says quietly. "Are you thinking about that alley right now?"

Rubbish question. Of course I am. I've thought about nothing else for two days.

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair." His voice is low, rough at the edges. "You show up in my lecture hall. You sit there taking notes like you didn't—" He stops. Shakes his head.

"Like I didn't what?"

He meets my eyes. "Like you didn't make me forget every rule I've ever lived by."

The words hang between us. Heavy. Dangerous.

I should leave. Every rational thought screams at me to leave.

Instead I take a step closer.

He holds up a hand. "Don't."

"Why?"

"Because if you come any closer—" He exhales slowly. "I won't be responsible for what happens."

My heart pounds. "And what would happen?"

His gaze drops to my mouth. Just for a second. But I see it.

"You know exactly what," he says quietly. "And that's why you need to go. Now."

I should listen. I know I should listen.

But my feet won't move.

"Céline." His voice is strained. "Please."

That word again. Please. Not a command. A request. Like he's barely holding on.

I force myself to step back. Then again. Toward the door.

He watches me the whole way. Those grey eyes dark with something that looks exactly like what I'm feeling.

At the door I pause. Look back.

"Monday," I say quietly. "I'll see you Monday."

His jaw tightens. "Yes."

"And then what?"

He doesn't answer for a long moment. Then, so quietly I almost miss it:

"Then we survive the semester."

I walk out before I can change my mind.

But in the corridor, I have to stop. Lean against the wall. Breathe.

Because surviving the semester feels impossible when every part of me wants to walk back through that door.