The Professor 소설 & 이야기

Even if it meant not being able to see him when I pleased. The door was pushed open, the sound of footsteps agaisnt the wood floors made me snap out of my head as I glanced towards the entrance, watching as The professor walks in elegantly. He takes him time to stroll up to me and I just gape at him in shock. For some reason I expected the professors to be old. His long frosty hair was braided into a low ponytail, his spectacles propped gently on the tip of his nose. His strong features were tight and stoic like that of a soldier's. I got up, feeling uneasy under his gaze.

The whole class is talking about professor Zain and I'm smiling like an idiot thinking about him. What's happening to me? Stop thinking about him, Inaya. He's your professor. I mentally scolded myself for thinking about him. I don't want to think about him but still, I'm thinking about him. There is seriously something wrong with me. Three lectures passed away in thinking about my hottie professor. Now it is break time and I'm still thinking about him, sitting in the cafeteria with Anu and Vikas.

he added, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned and walked away. Each step was an effort, his wolf howling in frustration as he distanced himself from his mate. But he knew he couldn’t stay—not yet. She was human, or at least appeared to be, and that complication alone was enough to make his head spin. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the festival entirely. Instead, he lingered in the shadows, his sharp senses trained on her as she resumed her conversation. “I’m glad you came, Elena,” the man - her professor - was saying, his tone warm and familiar. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the next set of classes. You’re making incredible progress with your research

Emma snickered as the professor glanced at us and shook his head, his lips twitching. "I'm your professor for this class and I hope we can get along well. Now, I'd love if we could drop the formalities as long as you're in my room, because all I do is teach royal history, and not how you should be chewing using your mouth." Several girls giggle.

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 atte

The professor for the session, the kindly but formidable Professor Patel, entered and stood before the class. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the final lecture for today. I know you’ve all been through a series of lectures, but think of this as the pinnacle of your efforts. Give it everything you’ve got,” Professor Patel’s deep voice resonated in the now silent room, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning.

At age forty-five, Professor Cal stood at over six feet, and was more handsome than eighty percent of the male population. The sprinkle of silver hair on his beard only seemed to add to the man’s erotic appeal and mysteriousness. But he was an a*shole. The man she must take down in the next twelve weeks. She heard a boy whistle, and some girls whisper among themselves as they watched her with awe, envy, or disgust. But she only had eyes for the Professor, who was now squinting at her with interest. “You’re the transfer student?” He spoke up in a gentle, deep voice.

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 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, many eyes in the room had already s

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."