I'm Not Like Them

Chapter 6

She lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to leave, to walk out before anyone noticed her reaction. Yet her mind churned. This wasn’t coincidence anymore. This was design.

And if he held their names in those folders, what else did he hold? What plan had he carried with him, neatly disguised beneath the role of professor?

Evan set his folder aside, leaning casually against the desk. “You’re all in your third year,” he said. “That means you’ve memorized the textbooks, passed your labs, and written your essays. But if that’s all you’ve done, then you’ve only touched the surface of psychology.”

His gaze swept the room slowly, deliberate. “This year, I’m not here to test how well you can repeat definitions. I’m here to push you. To make you see the fractures in people—and in yourselves. Because psychology, when you take it seriously, is not safe. It’s messy. It strips away illusions.”

The room quieted. A few students shifted in their seats.

“Let’s make it simple,” he went on. “I don’t want the usual introductions. Tell me this—” He tapped his pen lightly against the desk, a rhythm that seemed to echo in the silence. “What’s one thing you never show anyone? You don’t need to explain. Just give me a hint. A single word. A phrase. Something that points to what you hide.”

Nervous laughter rippled across the class. “That’s unfair!” someone at the back joked, half-serious.

“Unfair,” Evan repeated with a faint smile. “Exactly. But psychology isn’t fair. People don’t walk around showing you the truth. You’ll have to learn to read the shadows. This is your chance to practice.”

The silence stretched for a beat, then a girl in the front row lifted her hand, hesitant but curious. “Alright,” Evan nodded toward her.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess…mine is envy. No one ever sees it, but it’s there.”

A ripple of agreement passed through the room.

“Good,” Evan said smoothly. “Notice how you didn’t justify it—you simply named it. Envy. That’s honesty without overexposure. Very useful skill.”

Another hand shot up from the back. A boy smirked as he leaned forward. “Mine’s easy. Anger. I hide it well, but it’s always burning.”

Some students chuckled, but Evan tilted his head as if weighing the words. “You laugh,” he said softly, “but people who admit anger rarely erupt without warning. It’s the ones who deny it you should worry about.”

The laughter died. The boy blinked, caught off guard, then sat back in his chair. More voices followed, the room warming to the strange exercise.

“Fear.”

“Perfectionism.”

“Loneliness.” Each word hung in the air like confessions, brief but heavy. Evan acknowledged each one without judgment, only with those unnervingly sharp observations that made students feel seen in ways they hadn’t expected on a Monday morning.

Then he looked down at the roster again. “Ms. Rania Isolde Veyra…” His voice slowed, intentional. “…would you tell us?”

Rania’s pulse thudded against her throat. Every instinct told her to keep it short, to keep it clean, the way she always did. But under his gaze, the usual defense felt brittle. She straightened in her seat, her voice level. “Walls.”

The class stilled.

Evan’s lips curved, just faintly. “Concise again. Efficient. But walls…” His tone slowed, weighing the word. “Walls are never built without reason. Interesting.” He didn’t press further. He simply moved on, as though the moment had passed—yet Rania felt it lingering, like the faint pressure of a hand against her back.