Onyx's POV
The university library was quiet in the particular way only libraries could be.
Not silent.
Never completely silent.
There was always something.
The low, steady hum of the air-conditioning drifting through the vents overhead. Soft footsteps gliding between shelves.
The delicate rustle of turning pages. The faint, irregular tapping of keyboards somewhere in the distance.
All of it blended into a kind of academic white noise.
I sat at a long wooden table near the back, a stack of articles open on my laptop. The topic on the screen was extraterrestrial microbial ecosystems, which—under normal circumstances—I would have found extremely interesting.
I stared at the screen a moment longer, pretending to continue reading the article open on my browser tab. In reality, I had already reread the same paragraph about it four times. Not because it was particularly complex, but because my brain had decided to temporarily suspend all processing functions until Professor Dwight responded to my email.
Because I was waiting.
Waiting for a reply.
My email had been sent thirty-seven minutes ago.
Not that I was counting.
Technically.
If the professor refused my request, then the outcome was simple.
I would fail the unit.
And failing the unit meant repeating it.
Repeating it meant delayed graduation.
Delayed graduation meant a series of logistical complications that my mind had already begun calculating in increasingly unpleasant detail.
If he accepted, then the entire trajectory of my next year would remain intact. My academic timeline would proceed according to the carefully structured plan I had already mapped out—deadlines, milestones, graduation targets, all aligned with satisfying precision. Which would be... extremely convenient.
Then suddenly—
A small notification appeared at the corner of my laptop screen.
New Email.
From: Professor Dwight.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
Well.
That was faster than expected.
I straightened slightly in my chair, fingers hovering above the keyboard as if they had forgotten their previous assignment. This, apparently, was the moment. The exact moment where the future politely informed me whether it intended to cooperate with my plans... or ruin my schedule entirely.
I slowly moved my mouse.
Very slowly.
There was no logical reason for the hesitation. The contents of the email had already been determined the moment it was sent. My cursor speed had absolutely no influence over the outcome.
And yet, my brain insisted on the ritual anyway.
The pointer drifted across the screen until it hovered over the message.
I stared at it for another second.
Then I clicked.
The email opened.
Professor Dwight had replied that he wanted me to "come to the faculty room to discuss the matter in person".
So.
Not a refusal.
Not an approval either.
But, a discussion.
Which meant the probability of either outcome remained statistically viable.
I quickly shut my laptop.
Decision tree suspended.
I packed my things with efficient movements, returned the book I had borrowed to the counter, and left the library at a pace that was technically calm but, according to my heart rate, not calm at all.
* * *
The faculty room was quiet when I arrived. Suspiciously quiet. There were no other professors inside—only him.
Professor Dwight sat at his desk, focused on his laptop screen. I walked over and stopped beside him though he did not notice me immediately.
For a moment, I simply stood there.
Waiting.
Finally, I cleared my throat softly.
"Hello, Professor Dwight. I am here as requested," I said calmly.
He looked up.
"Ah," he said. "Good."
He leaned back slightly in his chair.
"You don't have any classes right now, Mr. Onyx?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But, I still have thirty minutes before my next class."
"All right," he said. "I'll make it quick."
He rotated his chair to face me fully.
"I read your very long email," he said. "And dissected it."
I swallowed quietly.
Waiting.
"I did not want to repeat what I said before when you first came to me," he continued, "because I assume you understood my position."
His gaze was steady.
"And I clearly stated when I assigned this project that there would be 'no extensions'. That was very clear from the beginning, correct?"
Okay.
Yes.
I knew where this was going.
I sighed softly and nodded.
I was simply waiting for the formal declaration of failure so my brain could begin the recovery process.
"I have to fail you for this unit," he said. "This project is not only about academic preparation. It is preparation for your future career."
There it was.
I closed my eyes briefly.
Calm.
Remain calm.
Professionalism first.
I opened them again.
"Thank you, Professor," I said. "I understand that reconsidering would be difficult, but I appreciate you taking the time to read my email."
He studied me for a moment.
Then he asked something unexpected.
"But tell me," he said, "what really happened?"
I blinked.
"What caused you to lose your focus?" he asked.
I hesitated.
"Sorry," I said carefully. "I didn't want to fabricate a convincing excuse. But the real reason might make you more certain that refusing me is the correct decision."
"Go on," he said. "Just tell me."
I exhaled slowly.
"I was... hesitant," I admitted. "I didn't want to present this as an emotional appeal."
I paused, choosing my words.
"I rewrote the explanation several times. I tried to make it structured. Professional. Objective."
My fingers tightened slightly.
"I didn't want to use what I was feeling as justification."
I glanced up briefly before looking away again.
"Personal distress is not a valid academic excuse," I continued. "Being bothered is not measurable. It cannot be documented or quantified. So I removed it."
I swallowed.
"I didn't want it to sound like I was asking for sympathy," I said quietly. "So I deleted anything that sounded emotional."
A small breath left me.
"I didn't think being affected by something... was appropriate to mention. It felt unprofessional. So I converted it into something logical."
"In short?" he asked.
I stared at the floor.
Closed my eyes briefly.
Then answered.
"I felt something... foreign," I said slowly. "In my system."
The word sounded inadequate.
"I experienced an attachment I did not anticipate," I continued. "And it disrupted my usual structure."
He did not interrupt.
"I have always prioritized efficiency," I said. "Deadlines. Systems. Order. Predictability."
My voice lowered slightly.
"But this... was not predictable."
I forced myself to look up.
"It wasn't academic pressure. It wasn't financial. It wasn't family."
A pause.
"It was personal."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
I swallowed again.
"I allowed myself to care about someone more than I should have," I said. "We had a misunderstanding. And that... altered my priorities."
He folded his hands on the desk.
"So you mean," he said slowly, "you fell in love for the first time?"
The words hovered in the air.
My face grew warm.
I forced myself to remain still.
"If that is how you interpret it," I said carefully, "then that would likely be the most efficient summary of the email I have sent to you."
Efficient.
Even now, I was structuring the explanation.
I exhaled quietly.
"I understand how insufficient that sounds," I continued. "Emotional distraction is not a measurable variable. It does not justify missed deadlines. It only proves poor prioritization."
He did not respond.
He did not nod.
He simply watched me.
The silence stretched.
Long enough for regret to settle in.
"I am aware it makes me appear careless," I added quietly. "Or immature."
My throat tightened slightly.
"I should have compartmentalized better."
The professor leaned back in his chair, studying me.
"Mr. Onyx," he said after a moment, "do you believe feelings are something you can simply schedule around?"
I hesitated.
"...No."
"And yet," he said, "you are punishing yourself as if you committed academic sabotage."
I said nothing.
Because that was exactly what I was doing.
He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk.
"You are one of my brightest students," he said. "Your records show consistency. Precision. Discipline."
His gaze sharpened.
"I can see this is the first time you have ever failed to meet a requirement."
My pulse quickened.
This was it.
He was finalizing the decision.
"I enforce rules strictly," he continued. "Because in the real world, excuses cost people careers."
I nodded slowly.
"I understand."
He held my gaze for another moment.
Then—
He sighed.
Not annoyed.
Not irritated.
Just... thoughtful.
He turned back to his laptop.
"I'll reopen the submission portal," he said calmly. "Submit your project before your next class."
For a moment, my brain stopped working.
I blinked.
"Wait... did you mean—"
"Yes," he interrupted. "I am reconsidering your request."
The weight in my chest lifted all at once.
So suddenly it almost hurt.
"But," he added, raising one finger slightly, "this does not erase the lesson."
"I understand," I said quickly.
"And you will not tell anyone I did this."
I nodded immediately.
"Yes, Professor."
He leaned back in his chair again, though this time his expression had softened—just a little. The rigid authority that had been sitting behind his eyes earlier seemed to loosen.
"I am doing this," he said slowly, "because a friend of mine once helped me when I was about to stop my education due to financial hardship."
His gaze lifted from the desk and met mine directly.
"He told me to pay it forward."
For a moment, the room felt strangely quiet.
Quieter than before.
"And now," he continued calmly, "I am doing the same."
A small pause.
"Pay it forward, Onyx."
The words settled somewhere deeper than I had expected them to.
I straightened slightly.
"Thank you, Professor," I said, bowing instinctively. "I will not waste this opportunity."
He studied me for a moment before speaking again.
"Your feelings are valid," he added quietly. "Even the most disciplined minds collapse when faced with love."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"It makes intelligent people reckless."
I felt my ears warm slightly.
"And for someone experiencing it for the first time," he continued thoughtfully, "I imagine it feels like losing control."
I straightened slowly.
He was not wrong.
Not even remotely.
"You don't know how much you made my day, Professor," I said quickly. "And I promise this will never happen again. I will keep my priorities straight."
He nodded once.
"Yes, yes," he said. "Go submit your project now before I actually change my mind."
"I will," I said. "I truly appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."
I turned to leave.
My lungs felt lighter than they had in hours.
Perhaps days.
Maybe even weeks.
"Oh—one more thing, Onyx."
I stopped mid-step and turned back.
"Yes, Professor?"
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses.
"Whoever you were catching feelings for," he said casually, "I hope you and that person clear up whatever misunderstanding you have."
The comment caught me slightly off guard. For a second, I simply stood there. Then a small, involuntary smile appeared.
I nodded once.
He gestured toward the door.
"Go ahead," the professor said. "You may leave."
I stepped out of the faculty room and the moment the door closed behind me—I could finally breathe normally again.
Relief washed through me all at once.
My chest felt light.
I moved through the corridor with renewed energy, searching for the nearest quiet spot where I could open my laptop and submit the project immediately.
Because now—
Now I could graduate on time.
Finally.
The word echoed in my head like a quiet victory.
The hallway eventually led me to an empty study lounge near the corner of the building.
I sat down at the nearest table and opened my laptop again. The familiar glow of the screen settled my breathing almost immediately. Systems were predictable. Interfaces were predictable. Deadlines were predictable.
Emotions were not.
I logged into the submission portal and uploaded the final version of my project. The progress bar filled slowly before the confirmation message appeared on the screen.
Submission Successful.
For a moment, I simply stared at the words.
The crisis had been resolved.
Which meant it was time to address the real problem.
I leaned back slightly and exhaled.
My error had not been academic.
It had been structural.
At the beginning of the semester, the plan had been simple. I would finish the Capstone Project, graduate on schedule, stabilize my financial situation, and then leave. The timeline had been carefully structured from the start—precise, efficient, and free from unnecessary complications. It was a system designed to function without disruption, and it included one important condition: minimal attachments.
That had been the rule.
And it was the rule I had broken.
Somewhere along the way, I had allowed an unexpected variable to enter the system.
Jace.
My fingers rested quietly against the edge of the table as the realization settled over me again with uncomfortable clarity. He had not forced his way into my life. If anything, the opposite was true. I had allowed it to happen. I had allowed the late conversations that stretched longer than necessary. I had allowed the arguments that should have ended sooner. I had allowed the strange, unpredictable moments when my attention drifted toward him without permission, when my thoughts reorganized themselves around his presence in ways I had never intended.
At first, it had seemed harmless. Temporary.
But temporary variables had a tendency to become permanent disruptions if they were left unmanaged.
Which meant the correction was obvious.
Return to the original plan.
Finish the semester. Graduate. And then remove the variable.
I reached for my phone and unlocked the screen. His contact was still pinned at the top of my messages, exactly where it had been for weeks. Of course it was. My thumb hovered over the chat for a moment before I opened it. There were no new messages.
Good.
That simplified things.
I did not delete the conversation. That would have been unnecessary.
Instead, I muted the notifications and incoming calls associated with his contact, closed the thread, and locked the device before placing it back on the table with measured precision.
If the matter concerns the Capstone Project, it can be addressed during class hours.
There is no operational need to discuss it outside of that context.
Distance did not require hostility.
Only discipline.
This had always been the plan. I had simply allowed myself to forget it for a while.
I stood from the chair and closed my laptop, the quiet click of the lid sounding strangely final in the empty room. The system had been restored. The structure was clear again.
Now all that remained was to follow it.
Even if doing so felt slightly more difficult than it should have been.
* * *
Jace's POV
"He's gone. You can come out now," Dwight said.
I stayed where I was for another second, leaning back in the chair behind the divider like I had all the time in the world.
No rush.
Then I pushed myself up, stretched once, and walked around the divider as if I had simply been waiting there the whole time instead of eavesdropping on the most emotionally structured confession I had ever heard in my life.
I stopped in front of Dwight's desk.
Hands slid easily into my pockets.
Casual.
Relaxed.
Like I hadn't just heard something that would probably live rent-free in my head for the next decade.
"You heard everything?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Crystal clear."
Dwight studied my face carefully, the way professors did when they were trying to figure out whether a student was bluffing or just naturally irritating.
"Why didn't you want me to tell him you were the reason I reconsidered?"
I shrugged lightly.
"He doesn't need to know."
"That wasn't my question."
A smirk tugged at my mouth.
"What?" I scoffed. "You wanted me to jump out dramatically and go, 'Surprise, Boss, I saved your academic career'?"
I shook my head.
"Please. I'm not that desperate."
Dwight narrowed his eyes.
"He was serious in there."
"I know."
The words slipped out before I could filter them.
I cleared my throat and leaned back against the desk, crossing one ankle over the other.
"I mean—yeah. Obviously," I added. "He talks like he's submitting a thesis even when he's confessing."
Dwight folded his arms.
"It's you, isn't it?" he said. "You're the one he caught feelings for."
A short laugh left me.
"Don't flatter yourself thinking everything revolves around me."
"That wasn't an answer."
I looked away for a moment, my jaw tightening before I forced it loose again.
"He never said anything to me, and there was no name involved. " I replied. "So whatever he's feeling—that's his business."
"Jace," Dwight said slowly, "don't tell me you like him."
I rolled my eyes.
"Relax," I said. "He's the lead for our Capstone Project. If he crashes, I'd be a victim too."
I shrugged.
"I'm just protecting my investment."
Dwight gave me a long look that clearly said he didn't believe a single word of that.
"I know you can do that project alone."
"Yeah," I shot back, "and violate the pair requirement? I'm not repeating another year because of some technicality."
He sighed.
"You're deflecting."
"I'm being practical."
"You listened to that entire conversation without moving."
"So?"
"So you were worried."
I pushed myself off the desk.
"I was making sure he didn't collapse in front of you again," I said. "Big difference."
Dwight went quiet for a moment.
"Talk to him," he said finally. "He clearly doesn't know what to do with what he's feeling."
I huffed.
"And what? You want me to give him a tutorial?" I said. "Love 101?"
"Guide him."
That made me pause.
Only for a second.
"I'm a student," I muttered. "Not some emotional consultant."
Dwight just stared at me.
I straightened and stepped back.
"Anyway," I said casually, "thanks for reopening the portal."
I pointed at him lazily.
"You still owe me more than that, by the way," I added. "But I'll keep those in my pocket for emergencies—just in case Boss messes up again."
He snorted.
"You're unbelievable."
"Yeah, yeah."
I turned toward the door.
"Try not to overthink it," he called after me. "You're not as detached as you pretend to be."
I didn't bother turning around.
"Keep telling yourself that," I said lightly.
But my hand tightened slightly around the door handle before I pushed it open.
Because the truth?
If I didn't care—I wouldn't have been sitting behind that divider in the first place.
The hallway outside the faculty room was quieter than usual.
Students passed by, laughing, arguing, complaining about deadlines—existing like nothing monumental had just happened five meters away.
I walked a few steps before pulling my phone out of my pocket.
Just instinct.
Just habit.
Onyx's contact was still pinned at the top of my messages.
No new notifications.
Of course there weren't.
Why would he message me?
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then I opened the chat.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
"You good?"
I typed it.
Then deleted it.
Too soft.
"Submit it already"
I frowned.
Too obvious.
He'd know.
"Don't mess this up again."
I stared at the sentence.
Too harsh?
Maybe. Because I knew I was the reason why he got distracted in the first place.
Maybe I didn't have to say anything.
I exited the chat.
Locked the phone.
Slipped it back into my pocket like nothing had happened.
Tch.
He's fine.
He got what he wanted.
He'll graduate on time.
And I'm definitely not about to chase someone who's the one acting distant.
I exhaled slowly and started walking toward the stairs.
But my steps slowed slightly.
Just slightly.
Because somewhere between protecting my investment and sitting behind that divider while he confessed earlier...
I might have crossed a line.
And the worst part?
He doesn't even know.
End of Chapter 40