Adelani sighed. It wasn't that she disliked events like the alumni party she just found them exhausting. She knew the kind of people who would be there: accomplished, self-assured, the type who asked, So, what have you been up to? with polite expectation, waiting for an answer that aligned with their own curated successes.
She wasn't even sure she wanted to go tonight, yet her mind kept drifting back, back to a time when she sat in a lecture hall, quietly captivated by a certain professor. She had always found him compelling in a way that felt ridiculous, an admiration she never dared to name. But that had been years ago. He had probably long forgotten her.
Still…
Getting dressed for an event you weren't entirely sure you wanted to attend was an odd experience. Adelani stood in front of her wardrobe, arms folded, willing something anything to stand out.
She finally settled on a fitted navy-blue dress, modest yet flattering, the kind of outfit that made her feel put together without trying too hard. A touch of makeup, simple jewelry. A final glance in the mirror.
She looked… fine. Not particularly striking, but polished enough to blend in. And for tonight, that would have to be enough.
Adelani arrived at the alumni event with the unsettling certainty that she had made a mistake.
The grand hall was just as she had expected high ceilings, soft lighting, an air of quiet affluence and intellectual accomplishment. It was the kind of space that made her straighten her posture without thinking.
She scanned the room for familiar faces, unsure whether she wanted to find any. Tara stood by the drinks table, deep in conversation with a man who was either effortlessly charming or insufferable possibly both.
Maybe she had come to remind herself of who she used to be the ambitious, driven version of herself who had moved to the UK for a master's degree, who had envisioned a future far different from the one she now lived. But standing here, surrounded by polished wood floors, murmured pleasantries, and well-dressed academics, she felt out of place. Professors she recognized. Former classmates with important-sounding titles. Another few steps, and she recognized a former classmate, now the director of something important sounding, who had once bragged about getting a PhD offer in a single email.
This was a mistake. She should have stayed home.
The thought had barely solidified when she turned and saw him.
Professor Alexander St. John.
The name alone carried weight, the kind that belonged to old British aristocracy. He had been one of her lecturers during her master's program a distinguished scholar in environmental policy, well-spoken, quietly intimidating. His presence had always been commanding, even in a lecture hall, but she had never imagined him outside that context.
The sight of him jolted her like an old memory surfacing unbidden. He stood across the room, engaged in conversation, looking as effortlessly composed as ever. A tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt. Dark hair neatly combed back. Those sharp, blue-grey eyes watchful, intelligent, giving nothing away.
She had always found him compelling, even when it was nothing more than admiration from a distance. But she had never imagined seeing him again like this
For a moment, she forgot how to move.
She had never really known him, not beyond lectures and polite nods in passing, but she had noticed him. Had felt something, though she had never let herself linger on it. He had been her professor a distant figure in an entirely different world. But now, there was no lecture hall between them. No academic hierarchy. Just two people at the same event.
And then he looked up.
Their eyes met.
A flicker of recognition passed over his face. Then something else. Something that made the room feel suddenly, inexplicably smaller.
She turned sharply, pretending to busy herself with the drink selection.
"White or red?" the bartender asked.
"What?"
"The wine. White or red?"
"Water," she blurted.
The bartender gave her an odd look but complied. She took the glass with both hands, as if it might anchor her.
"Miss Oladimeji."
The voice came from behind her, smooth, familiar.
She turned.
Alexander.
She hadn't been imagining it. There was something in his expression curiosity, maybe. Amusement. A quiet kind of attentiveness.
"Professor St. John," she said, keeping her voice even.
"Alexander," he corrected, a small, knowing smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "I think we can do away with the formalities now, don't you?"
He was closer than she expected, close enough for her to notice the faint trace of his cologne—something woody and clean, understated yet expensive.
She swallowed. "I suppose we can."
"You've been well?"
"Yes," she nodded. "And you?"
"Still surviving academia," he mused. "Though I find these events far more interesting when unexpected guests turn up."
Was that—?
She took a sip of water to steady herself. He was flirting. Or something like it.
"You stayed in Norwich," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I always imagined you might end up somewhere bigger."
She hesitated. He remembered her.
"I work at the library now," she said. "And I volunteer with an environmental consultancy."
"A good use of your background," he said approvingly.
He really remembered.
The conversation could have ended there. It should have. But something in the way he was looking at her made it impossible to step away.
She had spent years assuming men like him older, accomplished, effortlessly sophisticated existed in a world adjacent to hers, never overlapping.
Yet here he was.
Someone called his name from across the room. A moment of hesitation, then he sighed. "Duty calls."
She nodded, grateful for the reprieve.
But just before he turned, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"Don't disappear just yet."
And then he was gone.
She exhaled, feeling as if she had stepped into something unfamiliar, something with weight.
Then, almost absently, she pulled out her phone.
A Twitter notification.
Her heart kicked.
"You look lovely tonight. Enjoy the event."
She froze.
Her eyes darted around the room.
No one was looking at her. No one seemed out of place.
But someone 'someone' was watching.