Last Lecture Book Novels & Stories

A girl sitting beside Evans muttered. The lecturer flipped through pages, then paused before flipping it again. He finally looked up, his eyes scanning the students. “Today, we will discuss cell regeneration since the group work has been postponed. Open your notes please.” He said as he placed his on the book desk. Most of the students groaned while others reached for their books. Evans had already placed his note before him before the lecturer entered. As he leaned back, his attention drifted to Jasmine. She was already writing and she was focused as if nothing had happened yesterday.

Kendra’s POV We slid into our usual row of seats, the cold wooden desktop feeling unforgiving beneath my forearms as I hauled my notebook and pens out of my bag. The lecturer was already at the front of the lecture hall, his voice booming through the overhead speakers as he launched into a dense, rapid-fire breakdown of comparative corporate insolvency frameworks. The slides clicked past on the massive projector screen in a blur of diagrams, bullet points, and complex statutory references. Normally, I never lived for these lectures. I never thrived on the sharp, analytical rhythm of legal theory, even if I let it consume my entire focus. But today it was worse, the words washed over me like

Humiliation paints my cheeks rosy, but I notice how Professor Quinn doesn’t break his focus on his lesson, and I manage to barely pay attention. “Next week we are having a test, bring your laptops fully charged and updated. I will grade you on what we have studied so far in this course.” Professor Quinn announces mid-lecture. “Yes Professor,” Students chorus. This was his last lecture on the French Revolution, and I felt like I didn’t understand much. ‘Fuck! I need help if not I am going to have a bad grade,’ I note to myself mentally. The class runs out and when Prof calls the end of the class, he says, “Linger for a minute would you, Miss Winthrop?”

for weeks. Every time I asked, he’d kiss my neck, slide his hand between my thighs, and murmur, “Soon, baby. I promise. Let me take care of you first.” And like an idiot, I let him distract me. Again. And again. So here we were. The door locked he swore it was, lights off except for the emergency exit sign bleeding red across the projector screen and my back pressed to the lecturer’s desk, panties long gone somewhere under the front row seats.

Then, he took a seat in the back row. Paxton was very inspiring which was shown by how much his students respected him. The originally clamorous lecture hall immediately quieted down after he entered the place. “Let’s begin our class today.” “Hey, prof Brookes!” Paxton nodded, then said, “We’re going to discuss Erwin Schrodinger’s book titled ‘What Is Life?’. What is your understanding of life?” Upon hearing that, Zayn knew that Paxton was teaching a lesson to him.

"And then she'll understand it's about everything." --- That evening David and I sat in the study. The fire going. The December dark outside. The book on the desk between us. "Read me the last page," he said. I looked at him. He looked back. "Go on," he said. I picked up the book. Turned to the last page. Read it aloud. *What remains is love. Directed with intention. Going forward. As it always has. As it always will.* The fire. The study.