The university hallways felt like an arctic tundra. I had spent the entire day trying to catch a single glance from Professor Alex, but I might as well have been ignored. In the lecture hall, he looked over my head. In the corridor, he stepped past me as if I were part of the architecture.
The "Cold War" had officially begun.
Every time I caught his scent—that sharp, intellectual mix of sandalwood and rain—my heart would leap, hoping for a confrontation. Even an angry word would have been better than this suffocating silence. But he was a master of discipline. He wasn't just ignoring me; he was erasing me.
By 4:00 PM, my spirit was crushed. I stood by the main gates, watching from a distance as he walked toward his black car. He didn't look back. He didn't check to see if his cab had picked me up. He simply drove away, disappearing into the city traffic and leaving me in a cloud of dust and rejection.
I took the long cab ride back to the apartment in total silence, my face pressed against the glass. The guilt from the party had transformed into a hollow ache. He hates me, I thought, the tears stinging my eyes. I finally pushed him too far.
At the other side of the city, in a dimly lit apartment filled with the smell of expensive cigars and old jazz, Alex sat across from his oldest friend, Marcus. A bottle of vintage bourbon sat between them, but Alex had barely touched his glass. He didn't want to lose his senses; he wanted to sharpen them.
"You look like you're ready to burn the city down, Alex," Marcus said, leaning back. "What's her name?"
Alex's grip tightened around his glass until his knuckles turned white. "Luna."
"The student?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were smarter than that."
"I am," Alex growled, his voice a low vibration of repressed hunger. "But she's a poison in my blood, Marcus. I try to stay away, I try to keep the 'Professor' mask on, but every time she looks at me with those wide, innocent eyes, I want to tear the world apart just to keep her in it."
He took a slow, controlled sip of the bourbon, the heat matching the fire in his veins. "I ignored her today. I watched her look for me, watched her small frame wither under my silence. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. Because all I wanted to do was pull her into my office and lock the door."
Marcus sighed. "You're obsessed, Alex. This isn't mentorship. This is a hunt."
"I know," Alex whispered, looking at his reflection in the amber liquid. "And the worst part is... she has no idea she's already caught."
I didn't go to my room when I got home. I couldn't. The apartment felt like a tomb without his presence. I sat at the kitchen table, the light from a single lamp casting long, lonely shadows across the marble.
I had a whole speech prepared. I'm sorry, Professor. I was immature. I won't drink again. Please don't be angry. I waited. One hour turned into three. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall sounded like a countdown to my own heartbreak. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day and the weight of the silence became too much. My head dropped onto my crossed arms on the cold table, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
At midnight, the sound of the front door opening didn't even wake me.
Alex walked into the kitchen, his leather jacket cool from the night air. He stopped at the doorway, his eyes landing on the small, curled-up figure at the table. He stood there for a long time, the silence of the house magnifying the sound of my soft, rhythmic breathing.
He walked closer, his shadow falling over me. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, inhaling the scent of my hair.
"Luna," he whispered, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Get up. Go to your room."
In the depths of my dream, I heard him. I felt the heat of his body radiating toward me. But I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to go back to that lonely bed.
"Not going..." I murmured, my voice thick with sleep. "Don't leave... sorry..."
A soft, dark chuckle escaped his throat—a sound that was both tender and terrifying. Alex didn't ask again. He reached down and slid one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me as if I were made of glass.
I instinctively tucked my face into the crook of his neck, my hands clutching his shirt. He froze for a second, his heart hammering against my chest, before he began the long walk to the North Hall bedrooms.
He laid me down on my bed, the silk sheets cool against my skin. He didn't pull away immediately. He lingered, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw one last time.
"Spoiled girl," he murmured, his voice a mixture of frustration and absolute devotion.
He stayed until my breathing evened out, a silent sentinel in the dark. He had tried to hide his feelings at his friend's house, but here, in the quiet of the night, the truth was undeniable.
The "Cold War" was not over luna .But I already....