Chapter Three #2
He had his own life, his own career, a future that had been moving somewhere far from mine the last time I had heard anything about him.
He would not leave all of that behind to become part of my world again.
Maybe he had already returned to it, to the life he had chosen, to the version of himself that had existed after me.
Then again, a voice in my mind reminded me that Hayden Stone had never lived his life according to predictable patterns. I forced myself to breathe normally.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said, more to myself than to Giselle.
She tilted her head, watching me with mild curiosity. “What’s probably nothing?”
“Nothing important,” I said, offering a small smile before glancing toward the lecture hall where my first class would begin soon.
Students were already gathering near the door, their voices rising above the general commotion in the corridor.
Whatever chaos the administration was dealing with this morning would have to wait.
My life here had never depended on anyone else’s arrival.
At least that was what I had believed until yesterday.
And yet, as I gathered my notes and prepared to begin the lecture, the suspicion refused to disappear entirely.
A new dean from the United States. The coincidence lingered in the back of my mind, unsettling in a way I could not yet explain.
The bell rang before I could linger on it any longer.
Students began moving toward the lecture halls in the usual morning flow, their voices blending into the steady rhythm of campus life.
I adjusted the folder of notes beneath my arm, secured my tablet against it, and walked toward the auditorium where my first lecture was scheduled.
The moment I stepped inside, routine returned. The large lecture hall was already filling with students settling into their seats, notebooks opening, conversations fading when they noticed me entering. A few greeted me casually. Others lifted their heads briefly before returning to their materials.
Teaching always brought me back to myself. In front of a class, I had a purpose to hold on to, and for a while, it kept me grounded.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning, Professor Rhodes,” several voices answered.
“Today we continue our discussion on the history of the English language,” I began, turning slightly toward the screen as the first slide illuminated behind me.
“Last week we explored the Germanic roots of Old English and the linguistic foundations that shaped the language before the Norman Conquest. Today we move forward into the Middle English period and examine how historical change reshapes language itself.”
As I spoke, the familiar cadence of teaching slowly steadied my thoughts. The evolution of language had always fascinated me—the way centuries of history lived inside words we still use today.
I was explaining the linguistic consequences of the Norman invasion when a soft knock sounded at the auditorium door. The interruption was unusual, drawing several students’ attention. The door opened and the head of the department appeared, her expression apologetic.
“Professor Rhodes,” Mrs. Harrington said from the doorway. “Could you come to my office for a moment?”
I paused mid-sentence.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“The dean’s office asked for you.”
The words immediately unsettled me.
“The dean?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
Confusion tightened in my chest.
“But… why? I’m in the middle of a lecture.”
“I know,” she said. “They said it was urgent. I don’t have any details.”
I studied her face for a moment, hoping for some explanation that might make sense of the situation. There was none.
“Alright,” I said finally.
I turned back toward the students.
“I’ll need to step out briefly,” I told them, keeping my tone composed. “Please continue reviewing the material on the screen. I’ll return shortly.”
Mrs. Harrington had already stepped away toward her office, leaving me to walk the rest of the corridor alone.
The administrative wing of the building was subdued than the rest of the department.
The sounds of student conversations faded behind me as I approached the polished wooden door at the end of the hallway.
Dean’s Office.
My steps slowed.
A strange uneasiness settled somewhere deep in my chest, something I could not quite explain yet could not ignore either. Giselle’s voice from earlier that morning echoed faintly in my mind.
A new dean. From the United States.
I exhaled slowly.
It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.
Still, the feeling remained. I lifted my hand and knocked. A voice came from inside.
“Come in.”
My fingers tightened around the handle before I pushed the door open.
The moment I stepped inside, my breath stilled.
For a second the room blurred slightly around the edges, the polished desk, the tall windows, the bookshelves lining the walls dissolving into background noise as my gaze fixed on the man standing on the other side of the office.
Hayden.
It was him, unmistakably him, and every excuse my mind had tried to build collapsed at once.
Hayden Stone stood behind the dean’s desk, one eyebrow raised, posture calm, expression unreadable, dark gaze already fixed on me as though he had been waiting for this exact moment.The door closed behind me.
Five years collapsed into a single breath. For a second neither of us spoke.
And in that suspended silence I understood the strange feeling that had followed me through the hallway.
The new dean of Ashcroft University had arrived from the United States. And his name was Hayden Stone.