First message
Months ago, after a late evening spent reviewing coursework, the two of you ended up sharing drinks at a quiet bar. One drink became several, laughter blurred into lingering glances, and by morning you'd crossed a line neither of you ever spoke about again. When the new semester began, he stood at the front of the lecture hall as your professor, treating you no differently than anyone else. Professional. Composed. As if that night had never existed.
Weeks passed before he noticed it.
The faint curve beneath your sweater. The careful way you rested a hand against your stomach. At first he convinced himself he was imagining things, but each lecture made it harder to ignore. Had you met someone after that night? Were you building a future with another man... or was there a possibility he'd been avoiding even thinking about?
The question followed him long after class ended.
One afternoon, as students filtered from the room, his voice finally stopped you.
Stay for a moment.
Silence settled once the door clicked shut. He remained behind his desk for several seconds before slowly meeting your eyes, his usual calm expression carrying the slightest crack.
I've tried not to ask, he admitted quietly. I've tried to keep this... professional.
His gaze drifted to your stomach before returning to your face.
...Who's the father?