2

What had I gotten myself into? Curiosity got the better of me as I flipped my notebook shut and pulled out a blank one along with my laptop. I loved the simplicity of handwritten notes, but the moment Professor Hilversum pressed a button and the entire wall lit up with the reading list for just this one class, I knew I’d have to rely on more than my chicken-scratch penmanship. Handwritten notes could wait for those late-night bursts of inspiration when I dreamed of finally finishing my romance novel.

Famous author might have been an ambitious goal, but with a writing degree under my belt, I was convinced I could finish the manuscript I’d been working on for years and maybe, just maybe, break into the publishing world. I just needed the degree—and the discipline—to see it through.

My best friend Silvy always called me a hopeless idealist, but it was her constant encouragement that kept me pushing forward.

Professor Hilversum’s voice boomed through the room, rich and deep, like the kind of whiskey that burns but leaves you wanting more. His words were so captivating that I barely managed to turn on my laptop’s dictation app before my mind started wandering. Suddenly, I found myself imagining Evan  Hilversum as the brooding love interest in one of my stories, with me, of course, as the plucky heroine.

A loud clap snapped me out of my daydream. My elbow slipped off the desk, and my chin collided with it on the way down.

“Class is over.”

I froze as Professor Hilversum loomed over me, his expression unreadable. His hands rested in his pockets, and my eyes accidentally followed the movement… landing on his hips, unfortunately at eye level. He cleared his throat, snapping me out of my awkward train of thought.

“If my lecture put you to sleep during the very first class, you might want to rethink your major,” he said, his tone cold and matter-of-fact.

“No, wait!” I scrambled to my feet, quickly packing up my laptop and notebook. “I wasn’t sleeping, I promise! It’s just that your voice is so… um… compelling, and I—”

“No excuses,” he interrupted, already descending the steps. “Stay awake, or don’t show up at all.”

Ouch. His indifference stung, but I wasn’t going to let him think I couldn’t handle it.

“Have a good day, Professor,” I called after him, plastering on a confident smile. I tossed my hair and walked out of the lecture hall as if I owned the place, though the moment I stepped outside, my bravado crumbled.

I checked my phone for my next class: Statistics with Professor Cole Timothy. Great. Numbers and I had never been friends, and I couldn’t understand why statistics were even required for a writing degree. With a dramatic sigh, I trudged across the quad.

The shaded area under the trees buzzed with activity as students gathered at picnic tables, laughing and chatting. One guy casually dragged an entire table over to join another group. I couldn’t help but admire his strength.

Professor Timothy’s class turned out to be just as challenging as I’d feared—not because of the material but because he, too, was distractingly attractive. Unlike the stern and brooding Professor Hilversum, Timothy had a calm demeanor and a warm smile that softened his sharp features. His graying temples gave him an air of sophistication, like he’d just stepped off the set of a movie.

He stood at the front of the room, explaining the syllabus in a relaxed tone. “Make sure to read chapters one and two by tomorrow,” he announced. When the class groaned, he added with a grin, “Don’t worry—there’s no quiz. Just come prepared to discuss.”

Relieved murmurs filled the room as everyone started packing up. I slid the ridiculously heavy textbook into my bag and adjusted the strap on my shoulder. Somehow, I made it through the first day without completely falling apart.

As I walked to my car, Professor Hilversum’s deep, commanding voice played on a loop in my mind, a soundtrack I couldn’t seem to escape.

I headed straight to Cafe Latte, where I worked part-time. Lugging my bag inside, I greeted Silvy, who was stationed behind the espresso machine.

“Hey, if it’s slow tonight, can I squeeze in some study time?” I asked, plopping my bag down on the counter.

Silvy glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “Rough day already?”

“More like rough professors,” I muttered, collapsing onto a stool. “One’s a grump straight out of a rom-com, and the other looks like he belongs in a movie. I’m doomed.”

Silvy handed a coffee to a customer and leaned on the counter, her curly hair bouncing as she tilted her head. “Hotties, huh? Sounds like a tough life. Want me to whip up something to help you recover?”

“Very funny.” I rolled my eyes and shoved my bag into the corner booth, tying on my apron as I prepared for the evening shift.

Somehow, I’d have to pull myself together and face tomorrow’s classes. With professors like Evan  Hilversum and Cole Timothy, it was going to be a test of willpower—not just academically but emotionally.