For a week, the silence was a form of torture. In his lectures, I didn’t exist. He never looked at me, but I felt his awareness like a current of electricity, a constant, humming reminder of what we'd done in his office. I was a wreck, caught between the shame and a desperate, aching need for his touch.

Then, late on a Tuesday night, my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Lecture Hall 2B. Now.

My hands started to shake. This was insane. This was how lives were ruined. I should have thrown my phone against the wall. I should have locked my door.

I went.

Pulling on a hoodie felt...