All Chapters of Blocked the Wrong Professor: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Dr. Ethan Ford returned my third thesis draft at midnight with comments so brutal I considered changing my name and leaving academia.At one in the morning, I opened NearU to keep myself awake.That was when I found my own hair clip on a viral anonymous post.My girlfriend loved the hair clip I bought her. Thanks for helping me choose it.NearU was Westbridge University’s anonymous campus app, mostly used for gossip, complaints, secret crushes, and the occasional department scandal.I clicked in casually.Then I saw the screenshot.The girl in the chat had sent a side-profile photo. The image was cropped and blurred almost beyond recognition; only her ear, a loose strand of hair, and a deep-blue enamel hair clip were clear.Under it, she had written:Honey, it’s beautiful. I love it.I lifted a hand to my hair.The same clip was there.Two weeks ago, my anonymous boyfriend had helped me choose it. After it arrived, I clipped my hair back, took that exact side-profile photo, and sent it

For the rest of that night and most of the next morning, I barely slept.Messages from my anonymous boyfriend kept appearing.Still working on your thesis?Why did you suddenly stop answering me?Baby, you’re being so cold today.Did I do something wrong? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.Don’t go silent on me. I’m actually getting nervous.I stared at the screen for a long time before replying.Are you hiding something from me?He answered instantly.No.I’ve always been honest with you.Did someone say something?Honest.A man who called me baby on NearU late at night, then used that soft voice to call another woman love in his office, thought he was being honest.Still, I could not ask him directly.If I was wrong, I would become the unhinged graduate student who mistook her adviser for her anonymous boyfriend and accused him of cheating.A few minutes later, he sent several photos.I’m meeting someone important tomorrow. Help me choose one?They were tie bars and cuff links this time, shot

Once I sat down, the first thing I noticed was the folder beside Professor Reed’s hand.That helped.The restaurant sat beside the university art museum and looked more like a faculty club than a date spot: dark wood tables, low lamps, tall windows facing the campus clock tower, and professors speaking quietly over wine.Professor Reed followed my gaze to the folder.“Don’t worry. I do have questions.”I set my bag aside. “Dr. Ford said you had concerns about the implementation details.”“I do.”For the next ten minutes, he was entirely professional.Sample bias, data access, control variables, and whether the model would hold if the pilot group changed. His questions were sharp, but not hostile. If anything, he was helping me find the weak points before someone else did.Once we were talking about research, I calmed down.Dr. Ford had dragged this proposal through so many revisions that I knew where it could hold and where I needed to admit limitations.Then the server came to take ou

That night, the four of us had dinner at a small restaurant near the harbor.It was my first time meeting Claire properly. She was not what I expected. I had imagined someone polished, distant, and impossible to approach, but she was open, sharp, and surprisingly easy to talk to. She teased Ford for being boring outside work, complained about foundation dinners, and asked me about my research with genuine interest.That only made me feel worse.If Ford had not been standing between us, I might have liked her.Over dinner, I learned that she and Ford had been together for three years. Three years, public and steady, with both families involved. By comparison, my anonymous relationship suddenly felt like a dirty little mistake, even though I had never known I was being made into one.I told myself that as long as I stayed quiet, as long as Ford treated her properly from now on, I could bury the whole thing and walk away.Daniel noticed my silence.“You’ve barely touched your food,” he sa

I woke late the next morning.We were supposed to return to Westbridge that afternoon. While packing, I realized the small field notebook I had made at the bookbinding studio was missing. A few Northlake notes were inside it.I messaged Daniel.Did you see my field notebook?He replied almost at once.It’s with me. It fell under the seat after you fell asleep. Want me to bring it over?No, I’ll get it.When I knocked on his door, Daniel was packing.Dr. Ford was there too, sitting on the sofa with messy hair, dark circles, and a hotel coffee in hand.“Claire is being unreasonable,” Ford was saying. “An old lab partner texted about next month’s conference. I replied twice, and she wanted me to delete the contact.”Daniel kept sorting his papers, clearly regretting his life choices.Ford saw me and immediately said, “Maya, you tell me. If an old colleague asks about conference logistics, is answering politely wrong?”I had planned to take my notebook and leave.Instead, something snapped