CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6: A Stir in the Air

The debate had gone so well that it left me riding a small wave of confidence. Professor JM’s praise lingered in my mind like a melody I couldn’t stop humming. His words were kind, but the subtle, private way he delivered them left me questioning their true meaning.

As the week continued, I couldn’t ignore the shift in how some of my classmates interacted with me. Carla and Mark still teased me about my apparent “special treatment,” but it wasn’t just them anymore. A few others had begun throwing curious glances my way, and I overheard someone mutter, “Is he the professor’s favorite?”

The notion made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be seen as someone who was benefiting unfairly.

---

It didn’t help that I kept receiving texts from Professor JM, though they remained professional and focused on academics.

“Your group’s argument structure was impressive. Have you considered incorporating real-world examples into your next project?”

Or:

“Remember, research isn’t just about finding the answer; it’s about asking the right questions.”

I always responded politely, trying to keep the exchanges brief. But despite my best efforts, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this dynamic was different.

---

By the middle of the week, a rumor began circulating on campus.

“I heard he’s tutoring one of the students after hours,” someone whispered during lunch.

“Who?” another voice asked eagerly.

“No idea, but apparently it’s one of his favorites.”

I froze. They weren’t naming names, but the implication hit too close to home. Was I the student they were talking about?

I thought back to the mixer, the texts, and the lingering glances in class. Had I been too visible? Too willing to engage with him?

“Junno?” Carla’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? You’ve been staring at your food for like five minutes.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about our next project.”

She didn’t look convinced but let it slide.

---

Later that day, after my last class, I decided to head to the library to clear my head. As I walked down the hall, I saw Professor JM talking to another faculty member near the staff lounge.

I hesitated, unsure if I should pass by or take another route. Before I could decide, he glanced up and saw me. His expression softened, and he gave me a small nod.

I returned the gesture and kept walking, my heart pounding.

---

That evening, I received another text from him:

“Junno, I wanted to check in. How are you finding the course so far?”

I stared at the message, unsure how to respond. This was different from his usual academic advice—it felt more personal.

After a long pause, I replied:

“I’m enjoying it, sir. The topics are challenging, but they’ve helped me grow.”

His reply came almost instantly:

“I’m glad to hear that. You’re doing exceptionally well. Keep pushing yourself.”

I didn’t know what to make of it. His encouragement was kind, but the timing—right after those rumors—made me uneasy.

---

The next day, things came to a head.

As I walked into class, I noticed a group of students whispering near the back. When I passed by, one of them said loudly enough for me to hear, “Here comes the professor’s golden boy.”

Heat rose to my face, but I ignored them and took my seat.

Carla leaned over, her expression concerned. “What’s their problem?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, pretending to organize my notes.

But their whispers didn’t stop.

“Bet he doesn’t even have to study,” one of them said.

“Yeah, probably gets his grades handed to him.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. I wanted to turn around and confront them, but before I could, the door opened, and Professor JM walked in.

The room fell silent instantly, and he began the lecture as if nothing had happened. But I couldn’t focus. The words of those students played on a loop in my head.

---

After class, I stayed behind, waiting until the other students had left.

“Junno,” Professor JM said, noticing me lingering by the door. “Is something on your mind?”

I hesitated, unsure how much to say. “It’s nothing, sir. Just… some things people have been saying.”

His brow furrowed. “About what?”

I looked away, feeling embarrassed. “About me. About us.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice softened. “Junno, you can’t let rumors affect you. People will always talk, especially when they see someone excelling.”

“But it’s not just that,” I said, my frustration spilling out. “They think I’m getting special treatment because of you.”

His expression darkened slightly, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something other than calm in his eyes.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he said firmly. “Your achievements are your own. I push you because I see potential, not because of favoritism.”

His words should have reassured me, but they only raised more questions. Why did he see potential in me? Why was he so invested?

“I understand, sir,” I said finally, though I wasn’t sure if I did.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Focus on what matters, Junno. The rest is just noise.”

As I left the classroom, his words lingered in my mind. But so did the questions. And deep down, I knew this was far from over.