The harsh fluorescent buzz of the office lights was the only sound, a stark contrast to the frantic rhythm of my heart. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his brilliant essay on post-modern feminist theory forgotten on my desk between us.

“Your insights on deconstructing the male gaze were… profound, Ethan,” I said, my voice a low hum that seemed to absorb the sterile light. I leaned back in my leather chair, the creak of it obscenely loud. His eyes, a deep, serious brown, followed the movement, lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the open collar of my blouse.

“Thank you, Professor Vale,”...