Professor

Confidence wrapped around him like a cloak, his demeanour exuding an air of authority softened by a hint of approachability. Dark, tousled hair framed a face that could rival the ancient sculptures, with shades of mahogany and copper dancing through the strands, hinting at a hidden fire. His hazel eyes, behind clear glasses, shifted like chameleons, in hue with each flicker of emotion, an ocean of complexities shimmering beneath their surface. They held a certain depth, seemingly concealing a wealth of knowledge and experience. Standing tall at 6’2”, he effortlessly commanded attention, drawing gazes without any effort. The contrast between his crisp cream shirt and deep ocean blue slacks only added to his composed sophistication.

In that instant, I was spellbound, entangled by a potent mix of awe and intrigue. The fleeting hero from that fateful night had transformed into an academic, adorning the guise of a professor within the walls of academia. The revelation sent a surge of questions cascading through my mind, each one competing for attention in the midst of the overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Time stuttered to a momentary halt, the world around me melting away into the background, as he introduced himself as Izan Dejanovic. His voice, a rich baritone, carried an undertone of warmth that brushed against the silence, resonating with an unmistakable confidence. As he began the lecture, my breath caught in my throat, and my heart seemed to perform an impromptu drum solo. Each syllable he uttered seemed to carry a depth that echoed the corridors of my mind, leaving an indelible imprint amid the suspended moment.

Words fell into a jumble, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. I felt breathless, absolutely smitten by the mystery that stood before me. Such was the impact of his presence, an unexpected magnetism that left me struggling for composure amidst a storm of emotions.

The revelation of his identity outspread a storm within me, an inexplicable connection that exceeded mere recognition. As the lecture continued, I found myself adrift in a haze of fascination, pondering the baffling allure of this man who seemed to hold the answers to a puzzle I hadn’t realized existed until that very moment.

Yet, amid this rush of recognition, a disconcerting realization dawned—his eyes, fixed on the lecture hall, held no trace of acknowledgement, no spark of remembrance. It was as if our paths had never crossed, as if that serendipitous night existed only in the depths of my memory.

The mystique of our connection persisted, draped in an air of uncertainty, as the lecture unfurled and time did its thing. Then his lecture drew to a close faster than I could even blink. I only realised when the symphony of rustling papers and departing footsteps filled the hall. As I gathered my belongings a sudden warmth stirred inside me—a magnetic pull that made me look up. His eyes had found mine, and in that charged moment, my breath hitched, stolen away by their intensity. Our gazes intertwined briefly, an incomprehensible electricity pulsated down my spine, before his gaze shifted away with the swiftness of a shooting star. I watched, spellbound, as he walked out of the room, leaving me behind, frozen in my spot.

“—Mira!” Zoe’s persistent shaking jolted me out of my thoughts. The only person I had managed to befriend in these two days.

“Huh?” I mumbled, feeling like a total scatterbrain.

“I asked if you were ready to leave?” Zoe repeated, and I scrambled to grab my bag.

“Oh, yes, let’s go,” I replied with a quick smile, and she hooked her arm through mine.

“Let’s grab some food, I’m starving!” Zoe groaned pulling me out of the class with her and in no time, we found ourselves on a quest for the on-campus café. Zoe was a vibrant, fun and outgoing person. One can even compare her with sunshine. Normally I would drown in such rays, but she engulfed me with a certain warmth. She was the sunshine that didn’t burn but protected.

“Pot să-mi fac un Sarmale și un Cozonac să meargă, te rog.” Zoe effortlessly placed her order in fluent Romanian, leaving me in awe. “What will you have?” she asked, turning her attention to me, and I glanced around the diverse selection of food on display.

“Voi avea un mic în poșetă, te rog,” I replied confidently, only to notice Zoe’s puzzled expression and a stifled chuckle from the lady at the counter.

“What?” I queried, puzzled. “What did I say?”

“You just asked for grilled meat in your purse,” Zoe managed, fighting back laughter. I sighed, allowing a smile to break through.

“Go on, have a laugh,” I said, shaking my head as I handed the money to the amused lady behind the counter.

“No worries, learning Romanian can be tricky. But trust me, you’ll catch on,” Zoe reassured, her eyes scanning the café for an open table.

“Easy for you to say,” I grumbled, scanning the room alongside her.

“You think that’s bad? I once ordered bread with a side of condoms,” Zoe announced, prompting an unexpected burst of laughter from me.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am! And the waiter deadpanned, we don’t sell that here. Maybe check the men’s restroom on your way out,” Zoe recounted, shaking her head in disbelief. “And to top it off, it was a date!”

“You were on a breakfast date?” I chuckled, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity, just before I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Îmi pare atât de rău! Ești bine?” The guy I collided with apologized as I looked up. (I’m so sorry! Are you okay?)

“Îmi pare rău!” I quickly apologized. “That’s the extent of my Romanian. I’m really sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” I quickly offered him some napkins, noting the spilt coffee on his hand and the floor—thankfully, none on me, a testament to his swift reflexes.

“It’s alright,” he replied in a deep accent, flashing a friendly smile as he wiped his hand and bit of his T-shirt.

“Let me buy you another coffee,” I insisted.

“No need for that.”

“I insist. Besides, I need to grab one myself,” I persisted, and after some reluctance, he agreed. “I’m Mira by the way, Mira Hanan,” I introduced myself, extending my hand for a handshake.

“Luca Vasile,” he responded warmly.

“And I’m Zoe Murphy.”