It all came crashing down in a matter of seconds.
A minute ago, everything was okay. I was fine. And now? Now I was standing in the hallway, staring into the infuriating face of the guy who had swiped my first kiss nearly two years ago.
How had it escalated to this point? My hand still throbbed from where I'd slapped him, my heart racing as his cocky grin spread across his face.
Right. It all began with my first class.
--------------***--------------
That morning, I sat in my small office in the Business Department, trying to calm my nerves.
The office was neat and professional. My desk was tidy, a bookshelf held business magazines and journals, and a small photo of me and Ethan sat in a frame. His goofy grin always helped settle me.
I leaned back, adjusting my blazer over my skirt. A quick check in my compact mirror, a touch of lipstick—soft and subtle, to match the confidence I was trying to project.
"You've got this, Amy," I told myself, fixing my ponytail. "New class, new day."
My eyes drifted to the bussiness magazine splayed open on my desk. Emily Everhert stared back at me from the cover. She was the CEO of some booming startup and a role model to youth in business.
"Emily Everhert," I decided with a faint smile. "Now that's someone who knows how to handle pressure."
With one last glance at the picture of me and Ethan, I grabbed my handbag, took a deep breath, and headed out.
The lecture hall was huge, with rows upon rows of seats climbing toward the ceiling. The moment I stepped in, the noise died down. Every head turned to look at me, curiosity and skepticism mingling in their eyes.
I proceeded towards the lectern, setting down my bag and notes with measured coolness. The heels were hard on the floor, a jarring sharp click.
This was my moment, to set the tone.
My eyes roamed the room. The majority of the students looked vaguely interested, others not bothered. Then there was the boy at the front row. Marcus, Dr. Kingsley had said, that face without any expression, slumping in his seat, attitude screaming unimpressed. Next to him, a girl sat with her focus already on her task, her notebook open, ready.
And then, at the back, them.
The three Dr. Kingsley had shown me earlier.
The blonde girl leaned toward her friend, whispering something and giggling. Beside her, the black-haired girl sat with a calm seriousness, though her eyes flicked toward me from time to time.
And in the middle, slouched in his seat like he owned the place, was him.
Billy Scott.
His head rested on the desk, his posture so relaxed it almost screamed disrespect. Was he… asleep?
In my class?
Irritation bubbled to the surface, but I forced it down, took a deep breath. I couldn't let this rattle me. Not now.
--------***--------
{Billy's Point of View}
My head was throbbing, the hangover slamming me like a freight train. I kept my eyes closed, and my head laying on desk. Every noise in the lecture hall seemed to grate on my nerves-the mutterings, the shuffling, Evelyn's constant sighing beside me.
I grumbled under my breath. "Too much… way too much…"
Annie sat on my right, straightening her glasses, giving me the usual deadpan stare. "This is exactly what happens when you treat the bar like a personal challenge."
"I would not have had to drink if Evelyn hadn't yapped all night about that stupid crush of hers," I fired back at her, trying to speak under my breath.
Evelyn, the blonde on my left, jabbed an elbow into my side, her frustration cutting through the haze in my head. "You're ridiculous. At least try to act human for once. The new professor's here. Don't embarrass us."
"New professor…" rumored hotshot young assistant professor? Yeah, right. I heard enough chatter in the halls about how brilliant and gorgeous she was supposed to be. Big deal. No one who walked into this classroom was ever going to impress me.
The hall had quieted considerably, the chatter dying away into a hush as the sound of sharp heels echoed off the floor.
"Good morning, everyone."
The voice was crisp, commanding, and..... familiar.
My breath caught, the pounding in my head forgotten for a moment. Something about that voice—it was like a thread tugging at my memories. My pulse quickened, an ache stirring in my chest.
Why does she sound like her?
My thoughts reeled, dragging me back to a night I'd spent nearly two years trying to forget—and yet, couldn't.
I was bleeding out in the snow that night, my body shaking with pain and the cold. I had been reckless, caught in a bad situation I shouldn't have survived. But then she appeared—a woman whose face I could barely remember but whose presence had burned itself into my soul.
The woman I fell in love with.
She saved me. I could still feel her hands pressing on my wound, hear her yelling at me to stay awake.
I wasn't thinking in the clearest head; I was half-delirious from loss of blood and cold, but that much I knew: I didn't want her to go.
I took promise from her to marry me and even kissed her on brink of my death.
She was gone the next morning.
I searched everywhere for her, but she was gone without a trace, I got to know she paid for my bill and even gave me her blood. I couldn't remember her face clearly—it was like trying to piece together a dream. But her voice, her fire—that I could never forget.
I had spent the last 21 months searching, holding onto nothing but fragments of that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her silhouette against the snow, heard the urgency in her voice.
And now, that same voice cuts through my hangover like a blade here in this lecture hall.
Could it be her?
I sat up forcing myself, trying to ignore the irritated glare from Evelyn. My vision blurred. The alcohol was still dulling my senses. I rubbed my eyes, focusing on the figure at the front of the room.
The professor—still young, still poised, commanding—continued with her introduction, none the wiser to the tempest raging within me.
"I graduated from Fairview University, where I taught for two years. I'm looking forward to—"
"ANGEL?"
I shouted the word before I could hold it inside my mouth.
It was as if my heart would push itself out of my chest and roll around on the floor. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She, my nearly two-year-long search for the angel, stood right before me. She was real. Not a product of my imagination. Not some dream that faded with the morning light.
The sound of my own breath filled my ears, and even the watch on my wrist vibrated to alert me about my irregular heartbeat. I silenced it, unwilling to let anything distract me from this moment.
And yet… something wasn't right.
Her ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, but instead of recognition, I saw shock. No, worse—disbelief. Her face was like someone who had just seen a ghost.
I couldn't help myself. "Angel," I said louder this time, my voice quivering with hope and desperation.
Her response was something that I had never experienced. That jolt in her eyes did not subside. Instead, it solidified. Her face morphed into a chill, detachment. It was like a door slammed shut on my face.
"Billy!" Evelyn's sharp whisper cut through the haze in my head. Her hand was gripping my arm, tugging me back into the real world. "What's wrong with you? Sit down! Everyone's looking!"
I could hardly hear her words. The room about me had dissolved into a mumble of faces and stares. I saw Marcus turn in his seat at the front row, his brows knitted in shock.
The whispering was rising to a buzz. Some were chuckling, others bewildered. Annie, ever so stoic, hid her face in her hands, wishing perhaps she could fade into oblivion.
But none of it mattered. None of them mattered.
That was all I could see: her.
And she wasn't smiling. She wasn't happy.
"Angel…" I said again, softer this time, almost pleading.
But then, her expression changed. The incredulity in her eyes became annoyance. Her jaw clenched, and her brows furrowed.
Her sharp voice cut through the air like a blade. "You. Get out."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
What? Why?
"Why?" I asked, my voice cracking just a little, the one word weighed heavy with confusion and pain.
She crossed her arms, those eyes piercing and filled with unmistakable irritation. "Because you disrupted my class, and I don't stand for interruptions. So kindly Get out of my class."
Her tone was stern, uncompromising, but it was not the blaze that I recalled. The woman who had saved me that night, who had put everything on the line to keep me alive, couldn't be this.
Evelyn leapt up beside me. Her voice had been shaking for her attempt at intervention.
"Professor, please! He didn't mean to. He's not quite himself. Trust me, sir, it'll never happen again."
She gazed at me with those panicky eyes. "Billy, apologize. Tell him you're not going to bother her again!"
Her voice felt like it was coming from far away. I couldn't be silent looking at her. I couldn't look at anyone but the woman standing at the front of the room—the woman who had been my salvation, my dream, my everything.
I sighed, knowing it's best to leave. "Fine," I muttered.
Evelyn's grip on my arm loosening with disbelief. Annie peeked through her fingers, still red with embarrassment but cautiously hopeful that the chaos was ending.
I stepped into the aisle, each step feeling like I was dragging chains behind me. The room was deafeningly silent, every eye following me as I moved.
But I didn't keep walking. She was my angel; I couldn't help myself. I slowed my pace, shifting slightly toward her, speaking quietly, only to her ears.
"I'll meet you outside after class, Angel."
She widened her eyes, and for a flash, I could swear that something passed through her face, but I don't know: fear? shock? recognition? Not even a tell.
Her features firmed back up again and her voice rang out sharp, angry. "Get out!
The words stung, but there was no stopping the faint smirk that tugged at my lips. She could be angry. She could shout. She could pretend she didn't know me. But she was here, and that was enough for now.
I walked toward the door, the murmurs and chuckles in the room swelling behind me. The heavy door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping into the quiet hallway.
As the door closed behind me, I leaned back against the cold wall, closing my eyes.
She was here.
She didn't remember me—or maybe she didn't want to—but she was here. After all this time, after all the searching and sleepless nights, I had finally found her.
If she wanted to pretend like she didn't know me, fine. But I wasn't about to let her brush me off so easily. Not after everything. Not after all the nights I spent searching, clinging to the memory of her voice, her touch, her promise.
"I'll make you remember, Angel," I muttered under my breath, my smirk widening. "One way or another."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Well, what's he gonna do?
What about you, my reading buddies? Any guesses?