Professor Membrane Novels & Stories

Ford’s office. He was standing by the bookshelf, flipping through a file. Over his gray shirt, he wore a dark blazer, and at his collar sat the exact tie bar I had chosen the night before. My last excuse died there. “Professor, I revised the proposal.” Dr. Ford took it and skimmed the first pages. “Professor Reed will join the joint-project discussion this afternoon. Review your methods section again, especially sample selection and variable control. Don’t get caught off guard.” “Of course.”

"Good morning class. My name is Dr. Alqamar San Diego and I will be your professor in Biochemistry for the whole year," Shit.

Will she really be seeing them all the time, as far as she knows, two of them are her professors. "Good morning. My name is Alistair King. I will be your professor for this year. You may only call me Professor King, and if I call on you, the reply is Sir, nothing else. Now in this class, I want contribution, utmost respect for me and eachother. This class is going to be difficult and if you feel like you can't handle it, walk out now. I will not be dealing with complaints at the end of any test or exams. Assignments will be given at the end of the week, individually or in groups, and every mark counts."

“Mr. Cole, Miss Lessie. The Vice Chancellor is expecting you.” She gestured toward the double doors. I took a deep breath. “This is it,” I muttered under my breath. Taide pushed the door open, and we stepped inside. Three professors were already seated: Professor Clive from Political Science, Dr. Alara from Media Studies, and of course Professor Dante. My heart nearly stopped at the sight of him. He was sitting calmly beside the others, dressed in his usual black, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded loosely in his lap.

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.

Jack pats her shoulder, his face twisted in fake concern. I should feel something sympathy, worry but all I can think is: Now who’s going to tell me my art is empty? The dean gestures to the stranger beside her. "This is Mr. Laurent. He’ll be your substitute instructor for the remainder of the semester." And that’s when I finally look at him. Jerome Laurent is not what I expected. Young too young to be a professor, maybe late twenties with tousled dark hair and a sharp jaw shadowed by stubble. He’s dressed in all black: fitted slacks, a rolled sleeve button down, boots that look like they’ve seen more than just a classroom.

The lecture droned on, a distant hum beneath the static in my mind. The lectural’s words dissolved into meaningless noise before they could reach me. I was entirely elsewhere, trapped in a loop of a single, searing memory: Professor Kai’s piercing look from across the campus grounds. What was that look? It wasn’t the cool, detached mask of the academic. It was something else entirely—something raw, conflicted, and hungry. It was a look that had burrowed under my skin and refused to leave.

“Sure. What do you need?” “I’m interested in Professor Elena Thompson’s lectures,” Ren said smoothly. “She gave a fascinating talk this morning, and I’d like to know if she’s teaching any upcoming seminars or classes that are open to visitors.” The man smiled, clearly pleased by the interest. “Professor Thompson does have a talent for captivating an audience,” he said. “She’s leading a seminar on comparative mythology next week. It’s a bit niche, but if you’re interested in folklore, it’s worth attending.”

A hint of amusement laced his voice. "She was talking about some thesis, but I guess it was an excuse," Professor McClone teased. Sebastian's mind racing, he smiled. "Don't think too much, John. We were working on the Ashwood Heritage research. She wasn't lying," Sebastian clarified. Professor McClonechuckled. "I didn't ask for an explanation, Seb. Just meet her when you come back," Professor McClone said. With a final smile, Professor McClone hung up the call.

My chest rose unevenly, my pulse spiking so fast. What is he doing here…? The head professor cleared his throat. “Good morning, everyone.” I didn’t hear anything else. My eyes were locked on the same face I had been too close to just hours ago. Fuck. “I’ll be introducing your new professor for this course.” My heart skipped, then slammed hard against my ribs. I swallowed, throat dry. No. No, no, no— “Thiago De la Cruz.” The name echoed. A wave of murmurs spread across the hall, but it sounded distant like I was underwater.