All Chapters of Seams of Obsession : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

15 Chapters

the fall

Episode 1 — The FallIf you ask me when everything started to unravel, I could pretend it was later. A dramatic moment. A scandal. A forbidden kiss in a laboratory.But that would be a lie.It started with rain.Edinburgh rain is not polite. It doesn't drizzle the way it does in Lyon. It attacks—sideways, sharp, relentless, as though the sky itself has taken offence at your existence.By the time my taxi disappeared, my suitcase wheels were splashing through puddles and my hair had completely given up.“Brilliant,” I muttered.First day in Scotland and I already looked like a drowned philosophy student.The cobblestone street outside my new accommodation gleamed under yellow lantern light. Every stone slick with rain. Every stone treacherous.I tugged my coat tighter and dragged my suitcase toward the entrance. Just ten more steps. Step one. Step two. Step—My foot slid. Properly slid. Not

The alley between storms

Rain has a sound in Edinburgh. Not gentle tapping. It hisses against the cobblestones like the city itself is whispering secrets. And right now I'm sitting in a narrow alley with a stranger's hands still wrapped around my arms. A stranger who just kissed me. Brilliant start, Céline. Spectacular decision-making. For a moment neither of us speaks. Rain drums beyond the alley entrance while yellow lamplight spills across stone walls. His face is closer than it should be. Too close. Close enough to notice the faint scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to see how dark his lashes are against those storm-grey eyes. I swallow. "Well," I manage softly. It is, unfortunately, the only word my brain seems capable of producing. The corner of his mouth twitches. "That wasn't particularly wise." His voice is calm. Controlled. But his hand is still re

The Rule We broke

Edinburgh rain has a habit of following people home.By the time I finally reach my building, my coat is damp, my ankle throbs, and my brain is still replaying that kiss on an endless loop.I push open the old wooden door and limp inside. Warmth. Quiet. My flatmate hasn't arrived yet, so the small student flat is empty except for the soft ticking of the radiator.I drop my suitcase and collapse onto the sofa.My ankle hurts.My pride hurts more.But mostly—mostly I can still feel his mouth on mine. His hand at my waist. The way he said my name would be a problem if he did it again.I groan and bury my face in a cushion."Absolutely not," I tell the empty room.One impulsive moment does not deserve this much mental attention.And yet.The way he steadied me. The calm in his voice. The look in those storm-grey eyes right before he walked away.My stomach flips.

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 s

A Composure I Don't Feel

I'm not taking notes.Everyone around me is. Laptops open. Pens moving. Students nodding like they understand molecular bonding already.My notebook is blank.Because Dr Adrian Hale—the man at the front of this lecture hall—is the same man who kissed me in a dark alley four nights ago.My professor.My very off-limits professor.And the worst part?He looks just as shaken as I feel.You wouldn't notice unless you were looking closely. Most students are too busy being intimidated. But I notice everything. The way his hand pauses before he writes. The slight tension in his shoulders. The breath he takes before turning around.And every few minutes—His eyes find me.Just for a second. Like a reflex he can't control.I look down quickly every time. My pulse races so hard I'm convinced the entire room can hear it.This is absurd. One kiss. One reckless moment in

The Heirloom of lyon

If someone had told me a week ago that my greatest academic challenge would be pretending I hadn't kissed my professor in a rain-soaked alley, I would have laughed.Now I'm living it.The lecture hall smells faintly of damp coats and coffee. Outside, Edinburgh rain taps against the tall windows like impatient fingers.Inside, Dr Adrian Hale stands at the front, explaining fibre engineering with the composure of a man who absolutely did not press me against a wall and kiss me like the world was ending two days ago.It's impressive, really. Infuriating. And slightly fascinating.Because the rest of the class sees a composed academic in a tailored shirt.I see the man whose fingers slid into my hair in the rain.My notebook remains suspiciously empty."Today," Adrian says, voice calm and precise, "we'll begin with introductions."Quiet groans spread through the room. University icebreakers. The g

office hours and dangerous curiosity

I do not need to go to his office hours.That fact repeats in my head the entire walk across campus. I understand the assignment. I understood the lecture. And yet here I am, standing outside Dr Adrian Hale's door like a woman about to make a spectacularly bad decision.The hallway is quiet. Too quiet. The old building smells faintly of paper, coffee, and ancient carpet.From behind the door I hear the soft scrape of a chair. He's inside.I knock before my courage disappears."Come in."His voice travels through the door—calm, deep, professional.I open it slowly.His office is unexpectedly warm. Books line every wall, stacked in chaotic piles. Papers spread across the desk like a battlefield of research.And him.Adrian sits behind the desk, glasses perched low on his nose, reading something on his laptop. For a second he doesn't look up.Then he does.And the entir

The Flat's Verdict

If Edinburgh had a personality, it would be rain and chaos.My flatmates represent the chaos part perfectly.The moment I step into our tenement flat, the noise hits me like a wall. Music blasting from someone's phone. Priya shouting from the kitchen. Maisie swearing loudly about something mechanical. And somewhere in the background, the quiet whisking of matcha.Home.Our flat is technically student housing, but the building is over a hundred years old. The floors creak like they have opinions, and the windows let in enough cold air to qualify as ventilation. But the living room is warm. Mostly because five women live here and none of us believe in quiet evenings."CÉLINE!" Priya yells the moment she sees me.I barely get my coat off before she pounces."You had engineering today.""Yes.""With the terrifying professor."I pause. My brain immediately fills with the memory of Adrian l

A man who cooks when the world burns

Adrian's POVThere are two reliable ways to quiet my mind.One is work.The other is cooking.Tonight, work has failed me completely.Which is why I'm standing in my kitchen at eleven at night, aggressively chopping ginger like it personally offended me.The apartment is silent except for the rhythmic strike of the knife against the board.Chop. Chop. Chop.My colleagues assumed I left the pub early because I was tired. Technically, that's true. Just not the kind of tired they meant.Because across that room tonight—Among laughing students and spilled beer—I saw her.Céline Laurent.My student.The woman I kissed three nights ago.I stop chopping and exhale slowly.Professional disaster. That's what this situation is. The university's non-fraternisation policy is clear enough to make a lawyer weep with joy. Staff and students: ab

The Email Thread

By midnight, our flat is quiet.Which is rare. Priya has finally stopped talking. Maisie passed out on the sofa after declaring Scottish whisky a "scientific necessity." Yuki reads peacefully by the window. Ines disappeared hours ago with a notebook and a candle.I should be sleeping.Instead I'm staring at my laptop. At an email draft addressed to Professor Adrian Hale.Subject: Assignment ClarificationI sigh. This is ridiculous. Students email professors every day. Entire academic systems function through polite, mildly boring correspondence. This should not feel like flirting with disaster.Yet somehow it does.Because every time I imagine pressing send, I remember his voice in that office. Office hours should remain academic. The implication being: absolutely nothing else should.I glance at the clock. 12:14 a.m. He's probably asleep. Responsible academics go to bed early.Which means the

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