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Last night felt like a surreal dream. A dark corner of a half-empty bar, heavy guitar riffs, whiskey burning down my throat, and him. The guy with a predatory smile, the glint of metal on his lips, and a bold, possessive gaze that sent shivers down my spine. We didn't even ask each other's names — it was the perfect 'one-time thing', pure passion without commitments or silly questions. I left before dawn, taking with me only the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with tobacco smoke and the feeling of his strong hands on my waist.
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The next day, reality ruthlessly brought me back to earth. My transfer to a new, more prestigious stream of the law faculty was finally approved.
Running late for the first lecture, I burst into the huge auditorium like a bullet. The hum of voices instantly died down as the professor looked at me sternly over his glasses. Apologizing on the go, I quickly made my way up the amphitheater in search of an empty seat.
As I passed by the third row, I accidentally locked eyes with one of the students.
He sat with a perfectly straight back, in an impeccably pressed black uniform buttoned all the way up. A neat hairstyle, strict classic glasses in a thin frame. In front of him lay an open laptop and a thick textbook on international law. An absolute honor student, an intellectual, and a quiet type. The lecturer was just addressing him with some question, and the guy answered in a polite, soft, and incredibly calm voice.
I froze for a split second, nearly stumbling.
This can't be happening.
He looked at me like I was a stranger, politely and indifferently, and then returned to the lecture.
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