THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapter 7

I did not say a word throughout the lecture. I lectured on Stochastic Modeling with impeccable coldness, but my mind was analyzing her body language. The fatigue, the tension, the paleness. She was not well. However, the report I had found on my desk this morning was perfect, technical, and flawless. She had sacrificed her physical and mental well-being to maintain her academic fortress.

At the end of the session, I let the rush of students empty the amphitheater. I pronounced only one sentence, low-toned and authoritative.

"Miss Petrova, remain behind."

She flinched, but did not resist. She slowly put away her belongings. When the last student crossed the threshold, I walked to the door, closed it, and locked the latch to ensure the privacy and absolute calm I needed for this confrontation.

I returned to the podium and turned toward her. She was standing, facing me, but still in her defensive posture, her arms tightly held against herself.

"What is going on?" I asked, my voice soft, devoid of any academic threat. I knew softness was my only remaining weapon.

Carla raised her chin, her gaze fleetingly avoiding mine before returning with a forced determination.

"I am fine, Professor," she asserted. The lie was so transparent, so fragile. Her complexion was waxy. Clearly, no, she was not fine.

I had to push, but without breaking. I took a step toward her, ignoring her answer.

"Your report is impeccable, Carla. You put considerable energy into catching up on your absence. But what I see is an exhausted person standing as if she has been assaulted." I insisted, forcing the truth of the situation. "Your body is in total disagreement with your attendance record. Tell me the truth."

I saw the line of her jaw tighten. Her eyes began to glint, betraying the accumulation of tears she had been holding back for days. She was about to crack. The wall was at breaking point.

I made my decision. Physical aggression was forbidden. Forced approach was also forbidden. I had to offer her security.

I approached slowly, with calculated deliberation, and sat down as gently as possible on the student bench next to hers. I maintained a non-threatening distance, my body slightly turned toward her.

"I am not here to judge you, Carla. Nor to punish you. I am here to listen. But you must sit down first," I said, my eyes fixed on her, inviting her through my posture to lower her guard and sit down as well.

I had sat down delicately next to the student bench, offering her a secure space. I thought she wouldn't listen. I expected another attempt to flee, a look of defiance, or a categorical refusal to sit down.

But, to my surprise and great relief, Carla listened to me.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes scrutinizing my face for any trace of cunning. Finding only the measured expression I had composed, she finally released the tension from her body. She sat heavily on her own bench, but as far away from me as possible, at the opposite end of the seating area. She maintained maximum physical distance.

She had obeyed, not out of trust, but out of a reflexive discipline. The weight of my authority, or perhaps her own exhaustion, had finally overcome her flight instinct.

Sitting at a respectable distance, she was still not at rest. Her hands, even though she was no longer fiddling with her rings, were clenched. Crucially, her legs were moving frantically under the desk. A rapid, constant, jerky movement that betrayed the inner turmoil she was striving to contain. It was the chaos she couldn't expel.