I was supposed to be chilling.
It was Friday. No classes. No deadlines. A whole day of glorious, responsibility-free freedom. Most people were out partying or sleeping till 4 p.m. I had plans too—mostly involving a blanket, a game controller, and violently ignoring my social life.
But no.
Instead of gaming or sleeping or doing literally anything else, I was sitting on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it was about to give me life advice.
Why?
Because of her.
Professor Daphne Mehra. Aka, the walking contradiction of my life. Too young to look like a professor, too old to crush on without feeling like a criminal, and definitely too attractive to be real. Like… seriously? Who allowed that?
She wore an oversized shirt and sneakers and still looked like a damn Vogue editorial.
I groaned into my pillow.
"This is unhealthy," I muttered.
My brain: Draw her.
Me: "No."
My hand: already flipping to a blank sketchbook page.
I wasn't even trying at this point. My pencil just moved. A sleeve. A curl of hair escaping her bun. Her hand wrapped around a coffee cup like it personally owed her money. I didn't even try to draw her face. That felt too dangerous. Like if I looked too hard, the page would combust and call the campus police on me.
And then I did the dumbest thing.
I Googled: "Is it illegal to have a crush on your professor if she's only five years older but also looks like she owns your soul?"
The Internet said yes. Well—mostly Reddit. But still.
I tossed the sketchbook aside and flopped back with a dramatic sigh like I was in a Netflix rom-com.
"She's just a teacher," I told the ceiling. "A very pretty, terrifying, stylish, funny, smart teacher who smells like rain and confidence and probably drives a car that costs more than my apartment."
And right in the middle of my pathetic spiral—
My door slammed open.
"LUCIAN I BROUGHT RAMEN!" Ayaan yelled like he was breaking into a crime scene, not my private emotional disaster.
I sat bolt upright. "Bro—what the hell?! You don't knock?"
He kicked the door shut with his foot, holding three noodle cups like sacred treasure. "Nah, I sensed the lonely. Also, your mom texted me. She said you were acting 'weirdly poetic.'"
"WHAT?!"
He flopped beside me and spotted the sketchbook. Open. Exposed. Very much displaying a full page of Daphne's arm.
"Yo…" He grinned, slow and evil. "Is this—"
"No it's not."
"You drew her hand."
"It's not her hand!"
He poked the drawing. "That's 1000% her hand. I'd recognize that intimidating coffee grip anywhere."
I snatched it away and tossed it under the bed like it might crawl back out and betray me again.
Ayaan just smirked and passed me a ramen cup.
"You're doomed, bro," he said cheerfully. "So, when's the wedding?"
I groaned, and he leaned back, already grinning like the chaos demon he was.
"You know I saw her today, right?" he added.
My head snapped up. "What?"
"At the park. Feeding cats. Looking like Pinterest goals in sneakers and messy hair. I nearly stepped on a tabby just staring at her."
I blinked. "Cats?"
"Yeah, like four of them. They were vibing. One sat in her lap, bro. I tried that once and got clawed so hard I bled through my jeans. But her? Snow White status."
I tried to play it cool. "She likes cats?"
"Dude, you're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are. Like a Disney prince."
"I swear if you say 'love story' I'll throw this ramen at you."
He held up his hands. "I'm just saying. This is tragic. Forbidden. Beautiful. Romeo and Juliet—but instead of swords, it's physics exams and dress codes."
"She hasn't even looked at me twice."
Ayaan pointed at me. "But you've looked at her. Like a simp. A tall, sketchbook-carrying simp."
"I'm banning you."
"Too late. Already texted the group chat."
"You WHAT?!"
I lunged. He dodged. I tripped on a throw blanket and hit the floor.
"Relax, drama queen," he called out, laughing. "I didn't actually send it."
By the time I got up, he was gone—cackling down the hallway like the villain he was.
And me?
I was still on the floor.
Still thinking about her.
Still completely, utterly doomed.