Semua Bab In My Professor's Arms : Bab 71 - Bab 80

The apartment was too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy. I reclined on my couch, still dressed in last night's black skirt and cream-colored top from movie night.My sneakers sat by the door, laces tied, and my bag leaned against them, spilling a water bottle. My body quivered, uncomfortable, the memory of José's arm touching mine on the quad springing up in me.His voice, low and smooth, saying, "Stay close, Lily," when that creep in the black coat snarled from the woods. My heart had spiked then, and it was spiking now, but only half due to fear. José's smile, his warmth, the way he'd stood between me and that darkness it stirred something I wasn't ready to name.I shifted, the couch creaking, my skirt around my thighs, the fabric silky but too tight, as if it were holding me together.Victor's face followed, his cold eyes, the way he'd pinned me to his desk that Friday, his lips burning. But he hadn't texted since, not a word, and the silence was a duty I couldn't escape.My

The city was blurry, and streetlights passed by, José's sedan vibrating under us, the engine a low rumble through the quiet.I sat in the front seat beside him, my tank top loose, leggings soft, my skin still warm from his apartment, the memory of his hand brushing mine, his voice saying, “I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”My bag slumped at my feet, my phone heavy in my lap, the glow of his dashboard casting shadows on my thighs. The air was perfumed with leather, his cologne, and the sweet bite of mango from the snacks we'd shared, my lips still tingling from the taste.My heart was heavy, weighed down, José's warmth a light I couldn't shake, Victor's cold text from last night a bruise that was already healing.José's hands were steady on the wheel, his black t-shirt clinging, his profile cut sharp in the streetlights, his smile gentle, as though he had some secret I didn't."You're quiet," he said, his voice low and teasing, his eyes flicking to me, then back to the road. "Still thi

My bedroom was a silent cavern. The room was darkness , and the only visible light was the glow of a streetlight seeping through the blinds, creating slanted shadows on the walls. I was lying on my bed. The sheets were wrinkled, my askew tank top, tight leggings, my sticky skin from the day's heat, my hair down, draped on the pillow, grazing my neck, unnoticed.The air was still and heavy. My heart was pounding, and my breath uneven. The envelope, the picture—him, a woman, two boys, all smiling.My parents' divorce, ten years younger, Mom's tears, Dad's slammed doors, my headphones, my hiding, washed over me, wave upon wave, my chest constricted, my eyes stinging, my fear palpable, my reality clearer: I was going to be her, the other woman, wrecking a home, like Dad wrecked ours, like Mom wrecked herself, my world unstable, alive.I shifted, the bed creaking, my tank top sticking, my legs stirring, my hands wringing the sheet, its cotton rough, my heart racing, the photo's picture vi

The quad glowed gold in the light the evening. Heat clung to my skin, thick with the bitter smell of food carts that lined the surrounding.I stood on the edge of the stage, my sneakers on grass, sundress flapping against my legs. My denim jacket was unbuttoned, hair loose and we'll brushed, resting on the nape of my neck.My heart pumped steadily, remembering all the madness that happened in the session. The pain mellowed, the shame less visible, but not blur at all.José's fingers clenched around mine, taut, warm. His companionship is something I can't undermine. All the moments flashed through my mind, all conversation, everything. He was fresh air. My body hummed, my breathing shallower, everything more acute with him near. The final ceremony whirled around us. Laughter filled the space, restless energy everywhere.My heart soared at the prospect.I noticed Sophie and Daniels navigating the throng. Her pink sundress radiating the fading light. His arm around her waist, the chem

(Emily's POV)The hospital waiting area hummed with expectation. Light from the capital city streamed through high windows, reflecting off the newly polished floors. Disinfectant and the perfume of cut flowers from the vendor stand filled the air.I leaned against the reception counter, new white coat, blouse buttoned, skirt tied securely at the waist.My dark hair was secured tightly in a bun, loose wisps fleeing, neglected. My heart remained steady, but nervousness persisted.The memo yesterday repeated in my mind: a politician's stop. David Peterson. He was here to sign off on bills for mothers delivering today, a theatrics move.I'd dismissed it. My assignment was simple: be cardiology's representative, be professional, let the pageant blow past me. My existence was still, yet vibrant. A lot were falling apart and out of place. But I was firm and unshakeableStaff rushed. Cameras clicked. A crowd accumulated, reporters, nurses, patients. Whispers vibrated the air with hum.I shif