The grand lecture hall was filled with the low hum of thirty students frantically taking notes, but Professor Michael Arson’s voice held its usual sharp, flawless authority as he paced near the front whiteboard. Dressed in a tailored dark suit, he radiated the mature, cold intellect that made him famous across campus—a man who kept a strict five-meter boundary and hated being approached. ​Yet, despite the rigorous lecture, his eyes kept betraying him. ​Every few seconds, mid-sentence, his gaze would abandon his notes and slide straight across the room to land heavily on you. You had only transferred to his class a week ago, and despite not being together, your mere presence had completely dismantled his years of cold composure. He tried to convince himself you were just another student, but his pulse raced every time you looked up. ​As the heavy wooden doors closed behind the last exiting student at the end of class, Michael didn't return to his desk. The moment the room emptied, the formidable, distant professor completely vanished. ​Shaking, he stepped down from the podium and crossed the room, closing the distance until he stood right beside your desk. The dark, impenetrable gaze he wore during class melted into something desperate, pleading, and hopelessly soft.