All Chapters of In Love With My Spiritual Father: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The heavy wooden door to Professor Churchill’s office was shut tight, but a warm strip of light shone from underneath it out into the quiet hallway. I stood there for a second, smoothing down my skirt and taking a steady breath before I knocked softly. “Come in,” Churchill’s deep voice called from inside. I pushed the door open and stepped in. The room still had that familiar smell of old paper, leather, and cedar. Churchill was sitting behind his big desk, looking over a stack of student papers. As I walked toward him, he reached for his glass of water to take a sip. His eyes drifted over the rim of the glass and locked onto me. He froze mid-motion. For a brief moment, something in his expression shifted. It was not the same look he usually gave me in class. Before Saturday night, I had been nothing more to him than one of his bright second-year students, the quiet newbie who listened carefully, answered intelligently, and rarely drew unnecessary attention to herself. But Saturd

The afternoon sun was sliding lower. I stood in front of my mirror, pulling on a fitted, short bodycon dress that hugged my figure. I thought about how I could make inquiries about Mr. George from Dennis, but I quickly pushed the thought aside. Whether George was Dennis’s father or not, I didn’t want to look desperate. I wanted to get closer to Dennis, believing that the closer I got to Dennis, the more it would give me free access to Mr. George. Just as I was dressing up, Chloe came into the room and joined them. Chloe opened her mouth in admiration and asked me, "Where are you going, dressing like this, looking so beautiful?" I looked at Beatrice and Chloe and said nothing. I was just smiling. Then Beatrice looked at Chloe and said, "Please ask her. She's very secretive. She doesn't like telling us anything. Maybe if you ask her, she might open up to you," Beatrice said smiling. Then Chloe looked at Beatrice and said, "You're off to meet Dennis, aren't you?" She asked smiling.

I stood in front of the large mirror in my room, smoothing down the front of my black Reformation dress. It hugged my body nicely, making me look older than my twenty-two years. I wasn’t wearing heavy makeup. Just a clean face, a little lip gloss and my hair falling smoothly over my shoulders. I opened my locker and brought out a pair of designer heels I had bought some time ago with money from home. I had never worn them before. They had stayed inside their box, waiting for a day that actually mattered. Today was that day. I sat on the edge of the bed and fastened the strap around my ankle. My phone buzzed. It was the taxi driver George had arranged. “I’m outside your hostel gate.” I quickly replied. “Give me two minutes.” I picked up my small bag and stood in front of the mirror again. I opened the little makeup mirror inside my bag and checked my face. I touched my lips, fixed a strand of hair that had fallen across my cheek, then looked at myself one more time. I smiled.

The afternoon sun was warm, filtering through the heavy mango trees behind the faculty block where Dennis and his closest friends usually hung out between lectures. Dennis sat on a low concrete bench, holding a bottle of soda between his hands. He was absently staring at the label, turning it round and round. Patrick, sitting across from him, watched him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been quiet all afternoon, man,” Patrick said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on? You look like you're trying to solve a math problem that doesn't have an answer.” Dennis let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “It’s nothing much.” “It’s not nothing,” Marcus chimed in, tossing an empty plastic wrapper toward the bin a few feet away. “You’ve been checking your phone every two minutes since we got here. Is it Pat?” Dennis didn’t answer right away. He took a small sip of his drink, looking down. “She’s been acting differently since that party at my place,” Dennis ad

The horn of a yellow commercial bus blared right outside Churchill’s car window, a harsh, jagged sound that snapped him straight out of his thoughts.He didn't bother honking back or wasting energy swearing at the driver. He just pressed a stiff finger against the steering wheel, staring out through the tinted windshield at the solid wall of brake lights stretching as far as he could see down the tarmac. The car was hot, the afternoon sun beating down through the glass and turning the cabin into an oven despite the air conditioning humming at full capacity. But Churchill barely noticed the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. His mind wasn't on the gridlock, and it certainly wasn't on the stack of unread legal briefs waiting on his desk at home.It was stuck entirely back in his office.He kept replaying every single second of the afternoon. The way Pat had stood by his desk, the deliberate, unhurried way she had leaned forward. He could still see the heavy curve of her breasts