Novelas y relatos de Professor

As the other students filed out, Nate slowly packed his bag, his stomach a knot of dread. He approached the professor’s desk, his stomach a tight knot of guilt. Professor Harding, a man who looked younger than his mid-thirties with an athletic build and a clean-shaven jaw, looked up from his notes. He had a modern, sharp style a dark, well-fitted blazer over a charcoal henley shirt. His expression, however, was uncharacteristically stern.

"So you're saying it doesn't connect?" Snickers from the back grow louder. "I'm saying it's outside the scope of this lesson." He tilted his head just slightly. "Or maybe it's difficult to connect?" More laughter and whispers. Heat crawled up my neck. "How does she not know the answer to a student's question... but she calls herself a professor" Someone whispered loud enough for me to hear. I don't know if he was deliberately trying to make me an object of mockery but it was genuinely pissing me off.

His dark brown hair was neatly styled, and his gentle gaze encompassed us all. He had gentle features yet there was something about him that attracted me to him. “Good morning, everyone,” he began, setting his materials down on the desk. His voice was deep and smooth, with just a hint of an accent that I couldn’t quite place. “I’m Professor Farid Reign, and I’ll be guiding you through Advanced Theoretical Physics this semester. We’re going to delve into the complexities of quantum mechanics, explore the difficulties of string theory, and discuss the latest developments in cosmology.”

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

"The professor on stage with the silver hair is Professor Sean Song. He’s a titan in the academic world with forty years of experience. “One of the papers I sent you yesterday—he wrote it when he was sixty." His deep, smooth voice resonated in her ears. A strange shiver ran down her spine, but her focus remained on the people before her, her eyes gleaming with admiration. True knowledge had no limits. No matter one’s age, as long as they had the will to learn, the possibilities were endless. They stood close, speaking in hushed tones, lost in their conversation. What they didn’t realize was that from the moment they entered, man

Professor Kingsley, sitting at his desk off to the side, was so red he looked like he was about to burst, jowls trembling with fury. “Cassidy Knox,” the professor said, slowly rising from his seat, “do you care to explain yourself?”

the Grand Professor said quietly, not daring to meet her eyes. They had promised her— They would never lie to her. Everything else, they had always been honest about. But this—this was the one thing they could never tell her. Until today, when they could hide it no longer. The Grand Professor’s voice was low and gravelly as he went on: “Your teacher… even though he was younger than all of us, he was a prodigy. In chemistry and biology, few in the world could match him at the time. And now—Briella, you’ve become one of those few.”

Professor Alexander was at least ten years older than I was. He was the youngest professor in the college, making his age twenty-eight. This meant that he knew I was his mate yet he didn't tell me about it. Was this the reason he hated me? I had many questions for him. Our gaze met and his orbs glinted as if he could hear every one of my thoughts.

[Vanessa] “Professor?” I take a step forward, trying one more time to get a definitive answer from him about what he is thinking. “Is there something I should know about before I go?" For as long as I known the professor, his is unfailingly honest. The man doesn't lie, at least not directly, and is honest even when it isn't kind. However, he is an expert at keeping secrets.

Kyle stood in the entrance hall of Columbia University. How useful, he thought, for them to display all the faculty members neatly on the wall like that. Kyle scanned the row of photographs, some depicting smiling faces, other studious faces, all in black and white. He read the names, each as innocuous as the last. Lyndsay Jones—Professor of Mathematics. Sarah Gee—Professor of Psychology.