My relationship with Professor Adam Lawson was a secret, a four-year violation of the university’s strict ban on student-faculty relationships. Just before graduation, I begged him to come home with me to meet my parents. His hand, which had been caressing my waist, froze. “Are you serious?” I nodded, my heart pounding. But a slow, dismissive smile spread across his face. “Your father asked me to look after you. If he found out I’ve been sleeping with his precious daughter, he’d probably kill me.” He leaned in, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Stop messing around. Screwing is one thing, Ava. But for marriage? You’ll have to find someone else.” I froze. He kissed me then, a brief, meaningless gesture of affection before pressing a slip of paper into my hand. “That’s my nephew’s contact info,” he said. “He’s your age. Why don’t you give him a call?” 1 Adam’s voice was casual, laced with the lazy satisfaction of a man who’d just gotten what he wanted. On any other day, this was when he was most agreeable. He’d say yes to anything. But today, though his tone was light, the words held an undeniable finality. The piece of paper in my hand felt like it was burning a hole through my skin. I wanted to crumple it up, to throw it in the trash, to scream at him, After four years, was there ever a single moment of genuine feeling for me? But my mind went numb, flashing back to a scene from three nights ago. Adam had just been promoted. His friends took him out to a bar to celebrate, and by the time he called me, he was already drunk, his words slurring as he asked me to pick him up. When I found him, he was leaning against a brick wall outside, a cigarette dangling from two fingers, a lighter flickering in his other hand. As the flame caught, one of his friends asked, “Ava’s been with you for four years, man. Aren’t you going to make it official?” “Your final thesis defense is coming up,” another chimed in. “After that, you won’t be professor and student anymore.” I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was the day I had been waiting for, dreaming of for four long years—the day I could finally stand by his side in the open. The day I wouldn’t have to duck my head and avoid his gaze when we passed on campus, when I could call him something other than the formal, sterile title everyone else used: “Professor Lawson.” I was desperate to hear his answer. But in the next second, he took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a plume of white smoke. A smirk played on his lips, as if he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Are you serious? Her dad asked me to look after her, that’s it. What feelings? Make it official? Get real.” “Dude, he didn’t ask you to look after her in your bed!” his friend shot back, shocked. Adam just chuckled, a low, dismissive sound. “She came onto me.” “And I’m not a saint.” I couldn’t name the feeling that washed over me then. It was a sharp, twisting pain in my chest, and my eyes burned. On instinct, I turned and ran. I didn’t go back to his apartment or to my dorm. I bought a six-pack of beer and went to the beach, chugging it down, trying to drown the image of his smiling face from my mind. But it was no use. I ended up black-out drunk, and in the end, it was Adam who came to get me. He never asked what was wrong. He didn’t care. He just took me home, and his lips found mine in the darkness. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me into a familiar, dizzying climb. The pathetic thing was, I couldn’t resist him. It was only at the very end, when I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, that I bit down hard on his shoulder, drawing blood. I forced him to whisper the words I so desperately needed to hear. “I love you.” I used to secretly delight in the thought that Adam, a man who was wealthy, brilliant, and constantly surrounded by beautiful women, had chosen me. Now I knew the truth. He hadn’t chosen me. He had selected me. Pretty, naive, and clean. And the forbidden thrill of sleeping with a student—that was just an added bonus. “Not happy with the arrangement?” Adam’s voice pulled me back to the present. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my response. He had already dressed, his dark hair now swept back from his forehead. He had the kind of eyes that made everyone feel like they were the center of his world, a smile so warm it could melt you. But if you looked closer, you’d see the truth: a cold, detached clarity that kept everyone at a distance. “Ava, don’t be difficult. Okay?” A long moment passed before I found my voice, a dry, scratchy thing. “Fine.” 2 After that night, Adam and I didn’t speak for a week. The withdrawal was agonizing. I poured every ounce of my energy into my graduation thesis, hoping the work would numb the pain. On the day of my presentation, Adam was one of the evaluating professors. When he saw me, his gaze was utterly blank, his expression unreadable. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. My hands tightened on the textbook I was holding, a wave of nausea rolling through me. I forced myself to walk past him, pretending not to care, and took a seat in the last row. This presentation was the final hurdle to graduation, and my classmates were a mess of nerves, wringing their hands. All except for one girl sitting directly behind Adam. She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes fixed on the back of his head, adoration practically radiating from her. Adam seemed to sense her stare. He turned, a small, weary smile on his face, and whispered something to her. I was too far away to hear, but I could read his lips. Focus. Stop messing around. His tone was indulgent, affectionate—the same tone he only ever used with me in bed. My eyes started to burn again. The third student finished their presentation. The girl, whose name I now knew was Claire, was next. She wore a simple white dress, her makeup subtle and confident as she walked to the podium. As she passed, I could have sworn her eyes flickered toward me, a flash of undisguised hostility in her gaze. I had no idea why. Then, her presentation appeared on the projector, and my world tilted on its axis. My roommate reacted first. “Ava, your topics are the same?” No. It was more than that. From the very first word she spoke, I knew. This wasn’t just the same topic. This was my thesis. The data, the citations, the arguments—I had spent months researching, verifying, and writing every single word. “Excuse me.” I shot to my feet. The professors in the front row turned, their faces etched with annoyance. On stage, Claire paused, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. “Yes? Do you have a problem? Don’t you know this is a formal defense?” one of the professors snapped. I bit my lip, my fists clenched. “Yes, I know. But I have a question.” “And what would that be?” Claire asked, her voice sweet as poison. Before I could answer, she continued, “You’re not going to say our topics are the same, are you? Or maybe… that I stole your paper? That I plagiarized you?” “Didn’t you?!” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. “Even if the topics were similar, it’s impossible for the data, the citations, and the entire argument to be identical!” I walked to the front and handed my printed thesis and a USB drive to the professors. They took them, their expressions skeptical, and began to compare the two documents. As they read, their faces grew grim. “What is the meaning of this?” I shook my head. “I don’t know why her thesis is identical to mine, but I swear on my life, this is my original work. My roommate can vouch for me.” Claire just laughed. “Well, my roommate can vouch for me, too. And I have my drafts. Do you want to see them?” She pulled two stacks of handwritten notes from her bag. The writing was messy, but the notes were undeniably real. My head spun, and my eyes instinctively found Adam, a desperate flicker of hope igniting in my chest. He had been there when I chose my topic. He had seen my first draft. If he would just speak up for me, I could— But his voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. “If you can’t prove your case, then don’t waste everyone else’s time.” He looked directly at me, his eyes cold. “Furthermore, you are under suspicion of plagiarism. You will receive a failing grade.” The world went white. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing, my eyes instantly flooding with tears. “What did you say?” “I plagiarized? Adam, do you dare say that again?!” He frowned. The noisy classroom fell silent. My roommate, terrified I was about to cause a scene, rushed over and pulled me away, apologizing profusely to Adam. “Professor, I’m so sorry, she didn’t mean it. She’s pulled so many all-nighters for this thesis… This is just… hard for her to accept.” Adam sat motionless, his expression unreadable. He waited until I was gone before signaling for Claire to continue. 3 Back in the dorm, my roommate tried to console me. “That girl today, her name is Claire Sterling. I heard her father is on the university’s board of directors. She has connections, Ava. Even if she did steal your work, you can’t fight her head-on like that.” I wasn’t listening. I was tearing my room apart, searching for my own drafts. I found nothing. They had been stolen. My roommate suggested checking the security cameras, but warned me it was a long shot. I was heading downstairs to try anyway when a text from Adam lit up my phone. [I’ll give you an explanation for what happened today.] [Come to my faculty apartment.] I took a deep breath, clutched my phone, and ran. He had just showered. A towel was slung around his neck, his dark hair damp and falling across his forehead. I could still see the faint mark of my teeth on his shoulder. The moment the door closed behind me, I demanded, “Why?” “Do you have any proof that you didn't plagiarize?” “How am I supposed to prove it? My drafts were stolen, and my roommate’s word isn’t enough. I thought you would help me. You saw how hard I worked on this. I even asked for your advice on the topic. And what did you say?!” My voice cracked. “With one word—plagiarism, fail—you destroyed months of my work. Now I might not even be able to graduate!” “Four years. I was with you for four years, Adam. Don’t you have a heart?!” The dam finally broke. Tears of betrayal and hurt streamed down my face, splashing onto the floor. Four years ago, my dad, a high-ranking officer, had been worried about me being alone in a new city. He’d asked Adam, a family friend’s son, to look after me. From the first day I met him, I was hopelessly smitten. He never rejected my adLawsons, always indulging my every move. I thought he liked me, too, so I worked tirelessly to be worthy of him. I made the dean’s list every year. I planned to apply to the same research institute as him after graduation. I had poured my soul into that goal. I had hoped my thesis presentation would be my crowning achievement. And what had he given me in return? He sighed, a weary sound, and reached out to wipe away my tears. I flinched away. “Crying at the first sign of trouble. You’re still such a child. Can’t handle the slightest setback. What have you even learned these past four years?” He looked away. “Let the thing with Claire go. It’s over.” “I’ll give you a chance to retake the exam. You can just—” I looked up, horrified, unable to believe this was the man I had known, the man I had loved for four years. “What did you say? You expect me to just accept the plagiarism charge?” “Is this your idea of an explanation?” He didn’t look at me. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the table. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “At least this way you’ll be able to graduate. I know you want to check the security footage, but I might as well tell you.” “The cameras have been down for maintenance for the past few days. You won’t find anything.” “Oh, and there’s one more thing I forgot to tell you.” He paused, turning to look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Claire is my fiancée.” For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. 4 I don’t remember how I left his apartment that day. But I fell violently ill afterward, a feverish haze that lasted for nearly two weeks. My roommate learned not to mention the thesis around me. But I still heard Claire’s name whispered in the halls. She had been accepted into Adam’s prestigious research institute. Her thesis was praised for its “forward-thinking” approach, and doors opened for her everywhere. With her status as Adam Lawson’s fiancée, no one dared to say a negative word about her. The university’s strict ban on student-faculty relationships, it seemed, didn’t apply to Claire. By the third week, I finally dragged myself out of bed. I skipped the graduation ceremony, focusing instead on studying for my retake exam and applying to other research institutes. But the rejections came one after another. Every background check failed. The black mark of plagiarism still hung over my name. Sitting in my empty dorm room, I stared at another polite rejection email, a profound sense of helplessness washing over me for the first time. “Ava, don’t lose hope,” my roommate said, trying to comfort me. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to close the browser, my inbox pinged. My hand, resting on the mouse, began to tremble. My heart leaped into my throat. I braced myself for another rejection, but then I read the words: Congratulations, Ava. We are delighted to welcome you to the team. My eyes began to sting. After hundreds of emails and countless interviews over the past few weeks, the tension that had been coiled in my stomach for so long finally snapped. The institute was in San Francisco. The HR manager added me on a messaging app, confirmed my start date, and we settled on the day after tomorrow. I read and reread the word “Congratulations.” I carefully asked about the background check, and they assured me everything was fine. Finally, I let myself cry. My roommate, hearing I was moving to the West Coast, insisted on a farewell dinner. I didn’t refuse. We both knew that after graduation, our paths would diverge. But I never expected to hear from Adam again. [Claire found out about us. To reassure her, you’re going to meet my nephew tomorrow at 3 PM.] It wasn’t a request. It was an order. I thought seeing his name would still stir something in me, some flicker of pain or longing. But I felt nothing. It was like staring at a stranger’s name. I didn’t reply. I just blocked his number. My flight to San Francisco was at 3 PM tomorrow. I hoped I would never have to see Adam Lawson again. … Adam frowned at his phone. The message remained unread. He hadn’t paid much attention to Ava’s life recently, but he knew she’d been busy. After her retake exam, she had been relentlessly sending out applications, going on interview after interview. The top institutes in Boston had all rejected her, citing the failed background check. It had become a running joke among some students. He hadn't cared. But yesterday, he’d seen her eating in a restaurant. And a strange, heavy feeling had settled in his chest. She had lost so much weight. Her waist was so thin he could have circled it with one hand. She was listening quietly as her roommate talked, her frame so fragile, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she could collapse at any moment. That’s when he remembered. She had been sick for a while. On the day of her retake exam, her face had been as white as a sheet of paper. So, that night, he had pulled some strings and arranged for another position to open up at his institute. He planned to offer her a job as his assistant. But somehow, Claire had found out. She’d thrown a fit, convinced he was still hung up on Ava. Claire, despite being the same age as Ava, had a temper that exhausted him. Their engagement had been arranged by their families since they were children. He knew they would get married eventually, so he gave in. That’s why he’d sent Ava the text. He never imagined that Ava, who used to reply to his messages in seconds, would simply ignore him. An unfamiliar wave of irritation washed over him. Then, he saw a message in a group chat: [You guys hear?! The girl who got rejected everywhere just landed a job! At that top-tier institute in San Francisco!] 5 At two in the afternoon, my phone rang. Adam. I declined the call. He immediately called back from a different number. Again and again, until I finally snapped and answered. “What do you want?” I said, my voice sharp. The airport was bustling. I found a quiet corner after checking my luggage. The line was silent for a long time. Just as I was about to hang up, Adam finally spoke. “I hear you’re going to San Francisco.” I didn’t deny it. I knew he’d find out sooner or later. “You got such a great offer. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Why should I tell you? Who are you to me? My former professor? My ex-fuck buddy?” I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Don’t call me again,” I said, my voice cold. “This kind of pathetic chasing isn’t like you, Adam.” I hung up and blocked the new number. Before, when I loved him, I would have given him anything. Call me a fool, call me lovesick, I didn’t care. I believed in giving everything to the person I loved, without expecting anything in return. I didn’t regret our four years together. Not even now. But I had made the choice to walk away. No matter how much I had loved him, it was in the past. I could look back, but I would never, ever go back. When I landed in San Francisco, a colleague from the institute was there to pick me up. He looked vaguely familiar. There was a faint resemblance to Adam in the set of his eyes, but his presence was calmer, more grounded. He lacked Adam’s careless, playboy charm. “Hi, I’m Leo Lawson,” he said, introducing himself. My head snapped up. The name clicked into place, the same name from the crumpled piece of paper Adam had given me. And then another thought struck me. He was supposed to be in Boston, waiting for me on a blind date he knew nothing about. What was he doing in San Francisco? “Is something wrong?” Leo asked, noticing my silence. He waved a hand in front of my face. “Uh…” I cleared my throat, embarrassed. “No, nothing.” Leo studied me. “Are you sure? Are you feeling airsick?” “I’m fine,” I repeated, forcing a smile. If he didn’t recognize me, then he must have been just as opposed to Adam’s meddling as I was. Since he wasn’t bringing it up, neither would I. Leo and Adam were complete opposites. Leo was an old soul in a young man’s body. Though he was only twenty-three, he carried himself with the quiet gravity of someone much older. He put my luggage in the trunk and held the car door open for me, his hand carefully placed on the frame to make sure I didn’t hit my head. As he drove, he was the picture of perfect form—eyes on the road, hands at ten and two, posture ramrod straight. He didn’t play music or the radio, and he didn’t make small talk. The silence was absolute. The old me would have found it suffocating. But now, it was a relief. I didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to force a conversation. I was about to close my eyes when Leo’s phone buzzed. He frowned, clearly annoyed by the interruption. He glanced at me, saw my eyes were open again, and apologized. “Sorry to disturb you.” Then, he declined the call and blocked the number. All in one smooth, efficient motion. I said nothing. The caller had been Adam.
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