My Professor Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Why are you awake at this hour?" I paused. Should I tell him? No. I wasn't ready to tell him on what I'd found. Not yet. "I couldn't sleep," I said instead, crossing my arms. "Now answer my question... why are you here?" Xavier exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "That's no way to speak to your professor." "Well I'm sorry... I just can't get over the fact that as a professor you don't even actually teach... you just spar with people you think you can overpower." I said, a hint of anger and frustration in my voice.

“It’s good to have multiple outlets. Art can be isolating sometimes.” “Is that why you became a professor?” I asked. “To be less isolated?” He considered this as he stirred the sauce. “Partly. Teaching forces me to engage with the world in ways I’d normally avoid.” He gave a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. “Though my colleagues would probably tell you I still don’t engage enough.” ‘Professor Julia seems to think you engage just fine.’ I thought to myself. “The sauce is almost ready. Would you mind setting the table? Plates are in the cabinet.”

The student's eyes lowered to the name of the professor for the course. Theodore Ashford, PhD Department of Psychology Professor & Dean for College of Social Sciences Isa let her hands glide over her keyboard for a quick G****e search. Something had to be off for a class like this to not be full yet. What she found was a world-renowned psychologist with dozens of publications, two uploaded TedTalks, a New York Times interview, and... To say the professor was just hot would be much less an understatement than a blatant insult. Through just the aggregates of pixels on her screen, Isa could sense the poise and presence the man carried with him. And, God, was the man attractive.

Ava Sterling couldn't breathe. Not because the classroom was warm — the AC was humming softly. Not because the students were loud — they were stunned silent. But because he was standing ten feet in front of her. Dr. William Reid. Same cutting jawline. Same intense eyes. Same smug, unreadable expression. Only now he wasn’t some random man in a dark club. He was her professor. Ava sank lower in her seat, heart hammering against her ribs. Camille nudged her under the desk.

“What the fuck was that for?” He looked almost amused. “You looked like you needed it.” “I did not need a hug,” I said through gritted teeth. “The professor’s an asshole,” he said simply. “You shouldn’t let assholes ruin your mood.” I stared at him, half angry, half confused. “You are so obnoxious you know that right?.” “I’m not,” he said with an even tone. “I'm just saying. You shouldn’t give people like him that much power over you. He’s a miserable old man who probably cries when he looks at his paycheck.”

2 XAVIER I thank whatever fucking god that all of these idiots are finally done with this class. I have taught English literature for three years now. Each year has been a different experience for me. The first year was by far the best. I was a new professor. Twenty three years old. I was so excited for my first real year teaching. I was excited to prove to the world that I didn't get the job just because my father is the dean. At the start of my first year of teaching, I was the shiny new toy. All of my students loved me, and seemed to love my teachings.

“What brings you here, professor?” TBC. ____ Hi, guys. I'm sorry for the inconsistent update lately. I'm writing my last academic exams but I'll be consistent with the update soon after the exams. Please, send gifts and drop your comments.

the dean said, leaning back in his seat. One of my professors walked into the room; he was my defense training professor and someone I looked up to. Carol was also in that class. For some reason, seeing him made me sigh in relief. It was nice to see a familiar and friendly face during this high-tension time. “Professor Rodgers, what can I do for you?” The dean asked, raising his brows at the professor. “I’ve come to offer my guidance and support,” he said, walking into the room and leaving the door open a crack. “I think of myself as a mentor figure to these girls and I’d like to be here during this conversation if you’ll allow it.”

He can’t be serious. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” I explain to my new boss in a rush of words that Mr. McCannon was not the type of person who would help in a situation like this one. “He’s probably retired, or dead by now anyway,” I realize aloud as I add, “Besides, I’m pretty sure he hates me.” “Impossible,” my new boss counters. “I can’t imagine any of your professors hating you.”

“You can be my campus girlfriend. We could meet here on the weekends, and you get to take care of me. That's all. We could end up being good together, and you can pass my course even if you perhaps do not take my exams.” My jaw hung open, and I blinked a couple of times to remind myself this wasn't a dream. “I can't do what you're asking me. I can't.” He scoffed. “Why? I'm a professor. I have enough money to take care of you. You should be happy that I decided to pick you for this kind of offer.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, sir, I'll have to decline the offer. I can't; I'm not that kind of girl.”