Monday mornings are usually brutal for me. I’m a night owl, not the kind of guy who rises with the sun, chipper and cheery. I spent most of the night writing because I couldn’t sleep. I was too wrapped up in memories of Tillie to lie in bed. But I have to be presentable at eight this morning whether I’m tired or not.

I pour my tea into a travel mug, then grab a piece of toast with jam to-go. If I don’t leave right now, I’ll be late for my first lecture. I wonder what Tillie is doing right now. Does she rush around in a mad dash to get out the door too? Or is she more pulled together than me?

Thirty minutes later, I’m finishing the last dredges of my tea from behind my desk in the office I’ve been loaned. A soft knock on the door has me glancing at the time.

“Come in,” I call.

The door creaks open to reveal a starry-eyed girl who must be barely eighteen. She smiles and stares at me without speaking.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, I work in the office two days a week and… I just…can you sign my book before your lecture?”

I let my frustration roll off my back at the interruption. I’m not here to do a book signing, but she’s obviously excited. Nodding, I motion for her to come farther inside and reach for her book.

“What’s your name, love?”

She blushes deep pink. “Hannah.”

I write a short message for her and sign my name before handing the book back to her. “There you are.”

“Thank you so much.” She starts to leave, but turns around again. “Oh, I was actually supposed to tell you that they’re ready to begin.”

My gut clenches as nerves take hold. I’ve done the public speaking bit before, but never on this scale. I straighten my tie and grab my tablet which has all my notes saved, and I hate how my hands shake.

When I walk into the lecture hall, I see rows of chairs arranged in stadium seating, most of them filled with people. People who are here to listen to me speak. I swallow past the lump in my throat and take my place at the lectern.

“Mysticism and occult studies. That’s why you’re all here, right?”

They nod, murmuring in agreement, so I continue. “But there’s more to this subject than incantations, tarot readings, and crystals. In the case of the occult, there’s also mass hysteria and real risk of persecution.” I clear my throat, and take a steadying breath as my nerves dissipate. “For instance, the infamous witch trials of Salem began with—”

The door at the top of the stairs opens and a woman stumbles in, a messenger bag slung across her body, long hair obscuring her face.

“Sorry, oh, God, I’m so sorry I’m late. I went to the wrong classroom.” My heart nearly stops at the voice that floats down to me.

“Tillie?” I say and every pair of eyes in the room turns to stare at her.

“Jude?” She glances up and tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing the beautiful face I’ve been fantasizing about seeing. The shock in her eyes says it all.

She’s my student. Oh, fucking hell. I slept with my student.

She rushes out of the lecture hall and all one-hundred students return their focus to me, anticipation humming in the room. They’re waiting to see if I’m going after her. But I can’t. I’ve committed to this class, and I can’t leave no matter how much I might want to.

I clear my throat again and search the screen of my tablet for the last spot in my notes I can remember being on.

“As I was saying…”

But I can’t concentrate. All I see is the betrayal in her eyes. Instead of continuing, I close my tablet and place both hands on either side of the podium. “I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my apologies today. There’s some rather important business I have to see to.”

There’s a collective buzz in the room as the class begins chattering, but I rush to the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the door.

“Tillie!” I call, not caring who is watching. “Tillie!”

I don’t see her, and my heart sinks. Bursting out of the building, I run until I reach the center of the courtyard where I see students milling about, studying under trees whose remaining leaves are colored with shades of gold and red. It would be idyllic if I weren’t so distressed.

I scan my surroundings, hoping for a glimpse of her, needing to explain. But she’s gone. The woman is like a damned ghost when she wants to be. I pull out my phone and send her a text message.

Don’t run from this.

Heart in my throat, I wait as the little bubbles dance at the bottom of the screen and tell me she’s responding. It’s a long time before my phone vibrates in my hand with her message.

This isn’t going to happen. You lied to me.

My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. I didn’t bloody lie to her. I said I was here for work. I said I was a writer. Those are all true.

I didn’t lie. You’re the one who said you were a molecular biologist. You failed to mention you were a student.

She doesn’t respond, and I can’t help but let out a frustrated growl. None of this is her fault. It’s not mine either. This is just an unfortunate circumstance, a roadblock to our happiness. All I have to do is convince her to listen.