My Professor Mga Nobela at Kwento

Sometimes it gets worse when there is an outsider in the relationship who is trying to be curious. “Good morning class.” We all looked at the door when a baritone voice greeted us. I looked at our professor, he was young and looked like a fresh grad. Yes, by the way, the university has changed some faculties, probably this one is among the newly hired ones. “Good morning, sir.” “Alright, call me sir Kiel. I am your professor for GOVERNMENT AND POLITICS OF SELECTED EUROPEAN STATES or the (POSC **123).”

My professor heard him and walked to where we, uhm, stood. "Hi! I'm Dr. Johnson. I assigned an essay for Miss Wright to do for missing my class. I apologize if it was an inconvenience," my professor said while extending his hand for a handshake. Io quickly let go of me but held one of my hands with one of his while he took my professor's hand in the other so they could shake hands.

I answered, seemingly uninterested. “Clevincent Madriano Suitarez! He’ll be our professor for our major subject all year. Oh my gosh, I’m definitely not going to be absent,” my friend said, still holding onto my arm. But I couldn’t help but smile at what Sheila said, good thing she didn’t see it.

I chipped away at the golden image everyone saw. But now..now she was slipping through my grasp again. She had the janitor looking at her like she was worth protecting. Like she was the only one worth saving. And worse…the professor. That man. Professor Black. I noticed it. The way his gaze darkened when she entered a room. The way his voice dropped when he spoke her name. That wasn’t a teacher’s look. It wasn’t discipline. It was something primal, something dangerous. Something I wanted for myself.

“Don’t ascend without me. I still have to tell you about this hot professor.” “Oh right,” I say. “Start talking.” The massage begins and I almost forget she is there until she speaks again. “So, classes have been chaotic,” she says. “But also entertaining because my literature professor this semester is unnecessarily good looking.” “Unnecessarily?” “Yes. Unnecessarily. Like he’s rude for being that fine. If someone looks that good, they should be boring or bad at teaching but no, he’s a genius. I suffer every class.” I laugh softly, the massage making my voice come out lazy. “Do you know his name?”

Because of him, I now know at least all the nutritional disadvantages of chocolate and the benefits of vegetables. “And that brings us to the end of the class.” The professor stacks her files together, staring at us through her sharp glasses. Professor McFadden is one of the strictest classes on campus, and I don’t think any student enjoys maths, the subject she teaches well, maybe except for Ivan, but I don’t attend any of his classes. As I sit on my seat, I wonder how he behaves in class, does he push his glasses up whenever an equation seems to fluster him or does he keep his gaze focused on the Professor and not pay any attention to anybody?

His voice was deep and commanding, even when he spoke in that cold, professional tone he used with everyone. He never smiled and never showed favoritism. He acted like none of us existed beyond the grades he assigned. And somehow, that made my stupid crush even worse. Sophia raised her hand, leaning forward so her cleavage spilled out of her expensive top. “Professor, can you explain that part again? I’m a little… distracted.”

The edges of the room began to darken, as if someone were slowly dimming the lights. "Sierra." His voice was different now and almost gentle, and somehow it still sent a chill down my spine. "Sierra, what's wrong?" "I can't do this anymore," I whispered. "It's too much." I tried to focus on his face, and for the first time since I walked in, the stern professor was gone. His pen had stopped moving and his brows were drawn together. "Professor Cross," I said weakly. "Sierra? Sierra!" His chair scraped back, and he was around the desk before I could blink, his hands reaching for me. The last thing I felt was my head going light as I fell into his arms.

“I don’t even understand it myself. It’s not like with Dante. It’s quieter. Calmer. But it’s there, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel it.” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “You have a thing for professors, huh?” I blinked at him, surprised when I saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips. “That’s not funny,” I muttered, but a small laugh escaped me anyway. “I’m not trying to make it funny,” he said. “I’m just… processing. Believe me, this is a lot.” “I know,” I said, my voice small. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me right now.”

"The tragedy is that he fully understands he is one, and he chooses to hide among normal people anyway." I blinked, forcing my eyes up to the front of the lecture hall. Professor Miller was pacing the length of the whiteboard. She was a fiercely intelligent woman in her late thirties, known for failing students who didn't keep up with the reading. She wasn't one of those warm, comforting teachers. She was strict, highly observant, and she demanded total attention. She stopped pacing and leaned against her wooden podium, looking out at the rows of students.