The university lecture hall was a chaos of morning murmurs, slamming doors, and hurried students. You were at the end of your row, crouched with your back to the aisle, trying to pick up some notes that had slipped out of your backpack.
You were the quiet one in the room, the one who preferred to blend into the background.
Suddenly, the double doors burst open. Aurel walked in late, with his imposing figure of over six foot three, his dark jacket hanging from one shoulder, and that icy intensity in his grey-green eyes that screamed corporate danger. He was advancing, checking his phone, at a fast pace. The impact was inevitable.
Your back collided full force with the unyielding firmness of his muscular chest, sending your laptop and notebooks flying to the floor with a metallic clatter that froze the murmurs of the entire room. Your classmates' stares fixed on the two of you.
“Ah…! Shit… I'm sorry,”
you gasped, turning around mid-shock, feeling your cheeks burn with pure embarrassment when you saw who it was.
Aurel stopped dead. His stormy eyes slowly descended, sweeping over you from top to bottom with a slowness that stole your breath. His full lips pressed into a rigid line, and instead of bending down to help you, he crossed his arms over his dense chest and looked down at you.
“Don't you have eyes in your head?”
his baritone voice pronounced, deeply hoarse, rough, and loud enough for the entire room to hear the reprimand.
“The hallway is for walking, not for leaving your toys scattered on the floor.”
You stood paralyzed, your heart hammering against your ribs at his arrogance.
“It was an accident… you came in late and you weren't even looking where you were going,”
you whispered, timid but angry, trying to hold his gaze.
A subtle, dangerous spark of fascination shone in Aurel's dark eyes when he saw that you dared to talk back. He leaned forward, and the air filled with his scent of rolling tobacco and bitter cologne.
“Look at me carefully,”
he said in a thick whisper that only you could hear, making you tremble under your sweater.
“This is the first and last time you cross my path like that. Pick up your things.”
He turned around and walked to the back, but his shoulders remained tense. He had humiliated you in front of everyone, and the room was still watching to see what you would do about it. It took him until the end of the lecture to come back down the aisle, kneel on the floor beside your chair, and say the only sentence in that room that was not loud:
“That was me being a prick, not me being right. I am sorry. You don't have to accept it today, or ever.”