Count to three: My affair with my dynamics professor (teacher x student)

Chapter 18

On that last Friday before the week and a half long winter break, as I made my way over to the tram stop, I could not explain myself where I got the amount of self-control from that it took me to walk out of Inés' office without a single word. Without trying to take it there again. Even when I saw how she was eyeing me up as I stood in the doorframe, as if she was offering me something. As if she had no self control anymore and only waited for me to initiate continuing what we started. But I knew better than to throw myself into the lion's den and by then, after several months of building this unexplainable connection with her, I also knew she would put a stop to it all, as soon as she started to think about the consequences.

And honestly, as much as I wanted to go on, as much as I wanted her to want to go on as well, I wasn't willing to humiliate myself like that. Not when she told me there is no we in between two kisses. I knew I didn't deserve to be treated like that and this time, I didn't let my desires tell me otherwise.

Sitting on the tram, time slowed down and I felt out of place. I missed her firm yet so gentle hand that cupped my face, I missed her scent, I missed the feeling of her soft, voluminous curls dancing around my neck as we kissed. It was as if the further the vehicle took me from the university building, the more my chest ached from her absentness. But I swallowed it and told myself I did the right thing, even though we probably just fucked everything up again.

Now, as I'm thinking about this, it's been two weeks and I'm sat in an enormous, cold auditorium. There are two empty seats on either side of me and an entire empty row in front of me, reducing the seating capacity of the auditorium from 500 to about a 100. That's about how many people are sitting in the room, nervously waiting for a life-changing piece of paper to be placed in front of them by a hand that's owner I have been thinking a lot about in the past two weeks. Inés Karimov.

As of her exams, I can confidently say I am not scared of them. This semester, my time management has become something I am proud of and I could put enough work in both her subjects. Of course, not only because they interest me a lot — and this allowed me to combine useful and pleasant by reading all the mandatory, recommended and even some extra books —, but also because I want to excel in them. As of Inés, on the other hand, I am terrified. Well, not of her directly but of the possibility of her having forgotten what we had, our connection. Over 5 weeks have passed since our last ride together, the last day everything felt relatively normal in my life.

"Morning, beautiful," Agda whispers as she arrives almost late to the start of the exam and intends on taking a seat next to me. She has her usual purse over her shoulder and sports bag as well, making me guess that she is coming from the gym. Who goes to the gym right before an exam?

"This seat is taken," I whisper back in the dead silent room, being aware of the person whose seat my best friend is about to steal already walking down the stairs behind her.

"Gotta move, love," says Henry; a curly haired guy on our course. "That's my seat you're intending on snatching away."

"Sorry, I have no choice but to sit next to my girl, Frida. So, unless you wanna sit on my lap, I'd love it for all of us if you were the one to move." Agda answers sarcastically, shrugging and lifting her hands in the air apologetically.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the microphone at the front of the class, making everyone cover their ears with their palms. As I took my hands away from my own ears, I glanced up and made immediate eye contact with the source of the noise. Inés.

I was relatively close to the front of the class compared to the size of the room, so I could see her well. She was wearing a light pink pantsuit with a white shirt underneath, with an expensive looking fur coat slung over her arm and a Tom Ford bag on the arm she used to test the microphone, much to our dissatisfaction.