Chapter 3
Chiamaka's heart pounded as she approached the office once more. The campus felt unusually quiet, the corridors almost empty as if the world itself were holding its breath. Each step toward Professor Eze's office seemed heavier than the last. Her palms were damp, and her stomach twisted with anticipation.
She knocked softly. "Professor?"
"Come in," he replied, his voice calm but carrying that same weight that always made her pulse skip.
The moment she entered, Chiamaka felt the familiar flutter in her chest. The office smelled faintly of books and the crisp, clean scent of his cologne. Professor Eze was already behind his desk, scanning some papers. When he looked up, his gaze met hers, sharp and unwavering, and for a moment, she felt the entire room shrink to just the two of them.
"Chiamaka," he said, standing as she approached. "Take a seat. Today, we'll go deeper."
Her legs felt weak, but she obeyed, lowering herself into the chair across from him. She tried to focus on the notebook in front of her, but every glance at him—his posture, the intensity of his gaze, the faint crease of concentration between his brows—made her hands tremble.
"Yesterday, you made progress," he said, his voice low, deliberate. "But true understanding requires more than just formulas. It requires observation, intuition… and courage."
Chiamaka swallowed, nodding slowly. "Yes, sir."
He walked around the desk, each movement deliberate, magnetic. "Tell me, Chiamaka… when you study alone, do you find yourself distracted by thoughts or feelings that have nothing to do with the work?"
Her stomach knotted. "Sometimes, sir," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He paused behind her chair, leaning slightly closer. "Good. Acknowledging distractions is the first step toward mastery. Now, let's see how well you can focus under… pressure."
Chiamaka's eyes widened. "Pressure?"
He smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly, and returned to the front of the desk. "Yes. You see, real understanding comes when you're challenged beyond comfort. Not just academically, but personally. Can you handle that?"
Her pulse quickened. "I… I'll try, sir."
He handed her a new problem set, more complex than yesterday's. As she worked, he moved around the desk slowly, observing her every move. Sometimes, his hand brushed hers when passing papers or pointing out a minor error, each touch sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Chiamaka forced herself to focus on the calculations, but her mind kept drifting to him—his presence, his voice, the way he seemed to fill the room without even trying.
After a few minutes, he stopped, leaning over the desk, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. "You're improving," he said softly, "but you must anticipate mistakes before they happen. Observe the subtle patterns, the hidden nuances. That's where mastery lies."
Her breath caught. "I… I understand, sir."
He straightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "Good. Now, I want you to explain this solution to me, step by step. Out loud."
Chiamaka's voice shook at first, but as she spoke, she felt his attention intensify, like a weight pressing down and lifting her at the same time. Each explanation drew him closer, each pause made her heart thump harder.
Finally, he nodded, satisfied. "Well done. But remember, Chiamaka… true focus requires control over your mind and… your impulses."
Her cheeks flushed. Impulses? She wasn't sure if he meant the formulas or… something else entirely.
He handed her a sheet of additional problems. "We'll continue tomorrow," he said, voice low but commanding. "Same time. Be prepared."
Chiamaka nodded, unable to speak. She left the office with her hands trembling, her mind racing. The corridor seemed longer than usual, each step echoing like a drumbeat. Whispers of curiosity and gossip from students passing by brushed against her like invisible fingers, but she ignored them. She only had one thought repeating in her mind: the session wasn't just about lessons.
That night, as she sat in her hostel, Chiamaka tried to review her notes. Every time she picked up her pen, her thoughts wandered back to the office—the closeness, the subtle touches, the forbidden curiosity that made her pulse quicken. Her phone buzzed with a message.
"Well done today. Focus, observation, and courage. Tomorrow… we go further."
Chiamaka's fingers shook. She knew she was stepping deeper into uncharted territory, drawn to him not by obligation, but by curiosity—and something far more dangerous.
Sleep came fitfully. Every shadow in her room seemed to mirror the fluttering tension she felt, and every sound—the distant laughter of students, the rustle of leaves outside her window—reminded her that the world would never understand what she was feeling.
The next day, whispers followed her across campus. Some students cast sly glances, others barely disguised their curiosity. Chiamaka ignored them, focusing only on the office ahead. She knew what awaited her: another private session, another challenge, and the slow-burning pull she could no longer resist.
And as she stepped into the office once more, her heart racing, she wondered… how far could a lesson go before it became something neither of them could control?
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Cliffhanger: The private lessons continue, but the tension escalates—Chiamaka and Professor Eze are drawn closer, and the line between mentorship and desire begins to blur, keeping readers desperate for the next chapter.