Chapter 41
ARUSHI POV
It’s already 10 AM and we’re here inside the lecture room. Everyone’s seated, tahimik lahat, as if may exam. But nope—wala naman. We’re just waiting for our doom in the form of Professor Haneul.
I was twirling my pen while staring at the front, and then the door creaked open. Tumayo lahat ng balahibo ko, swear.
Professor Haneul walked in—composed, graceful, but cold as hell.
She didn’t say anything at first, she just placed her laptop sa desk niya and started the projector. No smile. No small talk. Not even a “Good morning.”
Yung aura niya? DARK.
As in, it’s giving “Don’t even breathe near me” vibes.
I stared at her habang nagta-type siya sa laptop. Her brows were furrowed, and her lips were pressed into a thin line. Parang wala sa mood. Parang gusto niya may sapakin. Or may minumulto siya sa bahay, I swear.
I leaned back sa chair ko, crossing my arms.
What the hell happened to her?
Usually cold naman talaga siya, but this? This was next level.
Nag-start na siya mag-lecture. Her voice was sharp, clipped, and fast-paced. Halatang in a rush but also in control.
I bit my lip, trying to write down notes kahit half of me wasn’t even here mentally. I kept glancing at her, hoping for even one tiny glance from her.
Pero wala.
Hindi niya ako tiningnan. Not even once.
Usually, kahit papaano she’d glance at me during lectures, maybe dahil kilala niya akong kasali sa competition or something—but today? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Para akong invisible.
I sighed silently and kept scribbling.
Citrine, who was sitting beside me, leaned in and whispered with a giggle, “She’s so scary right now, I swear. What’s with her ba? Parang she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
I didn’t answer.
Kasi truth be told, I’ve been asking myself the same question. Was it me? Did I do something? Or maybe this was just her. The unpredictable Professor Haneul who gives you a whiplash of emotions.
Sa kanan ko, I saw Raegan and Forest unusually tahimik. They were seriously taking down notes, following every word na sinasabi ni Professor.
Even the rest of the class were unusually obedient today. Walang naglalaptop for games, walang nag-i-sneaky TikTok. Lahat parang natatakot gumalaw.
That’s the effect of her aura.
It’s heavy. Sharp. Commanding.
And somehow, nakaka-turn on—but also nakaka-nerbyos. Like, Ma’am, wag po ako. I swear I reviewed.
She continued her lecture about strategy frameworks and case analysis. Lahat ng pinapakita niya sa slides were technically sound, detailed, and full of high-level examples. But even her passion while teaching today… it felt different.
Less passion. More… frustration?
Hindi ko masabi.
But something’s wrong.
I stared at her longer, trying to read her. Pero she’s unreadable today. Blank face. Robotic movements. Masking everything so well.
Then I remembered… kagabi, I didn’t dream of the faceless girl.
And today, eto siya—Professor Haneul acting like she’s shutting down the world.
Is it related?
Hindi ko alam. Pero my gut says yes.
Then her eyes moved—fast. She was scanning the class.
My heart jumped. Please look at me. Just once.
Pero she skipped past my row. Again.
Ouch.
That stung a little. No—actually, a lot.
Why are you ignoring me?
Did she sense something? Or maybe she’s distancing herself kasi nga lagi na kaming magkasama sa training? Professional boundaries?
Or maybe… maybe she dreamt of me too?
I clenched my pen tighter. I shouldn’t overthink. But it’s hard not to.
The clock ticked.
11:00 AM.
The bell rang.
Everyone started packing their stuff, bags unzipping, chairs scraping. The usual chaos after a heavy lecture.
But her?
Professor Haneul closed her laptop, grabbed her folder, and left.
Just like that.
No “Goodbye,” no “See you,” not even a closing reminder.
She just… walked out.
Fast.
I didn’t even have the time to catch up to her.
Citrine raised an eyebrow. “Damn. She really dipped. Para siyang may tinatakbuhan, or tinatakasan.”
Forest came over and whispered, “Girl. Grabe aura ni Prof today. Parang demon slayer character na napikon sa kalaban.”
I rolled my eyes, pretending not to care. “Whatever.”
But I felt it.
That aching silence.
I wanted her to look at me.
To talk to me.
To tell me something—anything.
But instead, she walked away.
Like I was no one.
Again.
And this time? It hurt more than I expected.
---
It’s already 12 PM. I should be somewhere else—maybe in the cafeteria, or with my friends, or even sa library pretending I’m a decent student. Pero here I am.
Inside Margarette’s secret room.
Yes, that room. The one na hindi alam ng halos lahat ng tao. Except for a few elites, and now me.
Nakakaloka diba? May secret room si Margarette sa loob ng university.
Her parents are one of the co-owners, so duh, syempre she has access to everything.
At first I thought may hidden office siya or chill tambayan lang…
turns out, it’s a whole ass bedroom. With an actual bed.
A couch. A small fridge. Ambient lights.
It even smells like her perfume—dark, expensive, intoxicating.
And right now…
We’re not talking.
We’re not reviewing.
We’re not “studying.”
We’re fucking.
She’s above me—completely naked, skin glowing under the dim light from the wall lamp. Her hair's messy, sticking to her damp neck. Her lips parted, eyes half-lidded as she moves her hips slowly, rhythmically, dangerously between my thighs.
I feel everything.
The heat. The pressure. The mess. The tension.
Her body pressing down on mine as I grip her waist tighter, guiding her hips as I thrust upward—meeting her every move with urgency.
I close my eyes for a second, trying to keep my mind from collapsing. But I can’t. I’m drowning.
My heart is racing. My body is burning. My thoughts? Wala na. Gone.
It’s just her.
Margarette.
This dangerous, seductive, chaotic woman on top of me who somehow always knows how to shut down my brain and make me feel alive.
She leans forward, her palms flat on either side of my head, and our bodies press closer. Skin to skin. No barrier. No lies. Just this intense, carnal connection.
My fingers dig into her hips. I push harder, deeper, faster.
She whimpers. Loudly.
I bite my lip, trying not to lose control.
Her body trembles a little, and I feel her nails drag along my shoulder blades as she moves faster.
The sound of skin against skin echoes in the small room, mixed with soft, messy moans—hers and mine.
It’s messy.
It’s hot.
It’s so wrong, but it feels so good.
And yet—somewhere in the haze, in the middle of the overwhelming pleasure—I remember something.
Or someone.
The faceless girl.
For the first time in two weeks, I didn’t see her in my dreams.
No scent of wood. No taste of salt. No whisper of sage on her skin.
And now I’m here—sweaty, tangled in Margarette’s arms—and all I can think of is why.
Why didn’t she show up?
Did I lose her?
Was she ever real?
Margarette kisses my jaw, then my collarbone, trailing heat down my chest as she keeps riding me with her slow, deliberate rhythm.
I groan, losing grip of that thought. She’s pulling me back into the moment.
I look up at her—her flushed cheeks, her slightly trembling lips, the desperation in her eyes.
And I realize she’s not just doing this for lust.
She’s trying to claim me.
Keep me.
Own me.
But can anyone really own a girl like me when my heart is haunted by someone who doesn’t even have a face?
Margarette kisses me again—deeply this time. Our tongues tangle, messy and intense. I can taste her desire, her need, her longing.
I respond with the same fire.
My hands move down her back, and I thrust again, harder this time. She gasps, arching above me, eyes fluttering shut.
She collapses slightly onto my chest, moving in small, shivering motions as we reach the peak together.
Our bodies tense, then unravel—tangled limbs, shaky breaths, beads of sweat glistening on our skin.
Silence falls over the room.
Only our breathing remains.
For a moment, I let myself melt into it—into her warmth, her scent, her hold.
But then, slowly… my thoughts creep back in.
Professor Haneul’s cold expression.
The faceless girl’s absence.
And this lingering question inside me: Am I escaping or searching?
Margarette strokes my side softly. “You okay?” she asks gently, her voice raw and soft now, stripped of all her usual confidence.
I nod, barely.
She rests her head on my chest, fingertips tracing idle lines on my ribs.
I stare at the ceiling, heart suddenly feeling heavy.
Because I don’t know if I can give her what she wants.
Not when I keep dreaming of someone else.
Not when I feel like half of me is lost in shadows.
Not when Professor Haneul’s eyes won’t even meet mine anymore.
I turn to Margarette, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
She doesn’t answer right away.
She just closes her eyes and holds me tighter.
I wrap my arms around her.
And in that moment, I don’t say anything.
Because I’m pretending too.
---
It’s already 2:55 PM. Putangina.
I should’ve been in class.
I should’ve been here.
Pero no. I let Margarette hold me hostage sa kama niya. Her legs were wrapped around my waist, her kisses on my neck, and her voice whispering "just one more round"—and I was gone. Again.
I didn’t even notice the time until I saw my phone lighting up. I literally jumped off the bed, parang binuhusan ng malamig na tubig, and started grabbing my clothes from the floor habang naghahabol ng hininga.
She just smirked, “Come back here after. Or tonight. I’ll wait.”
I didn’t even answer. I just grabbed my blazer, shoved my arm into the sleeves, and ran out of the room like a fucking fugitive.
Now I’m running through the hallway, hair messy, half-buttoned long sleeves, and my slacks slightly crooked—but who cares? My only mission now: get to Professor Haneul’s office before she murders me with her eyes.
I reach her door. Panting. Heart racing.
I knock once.
No answer.
I knock again—still silence.
Okay. Here we go.
I slowly open the door. Unlocked.
And there she is.
Professor Haneul.
Sitting behind her sleek, intimidating desk, completely absorbed in her papers. Her brows are furrowed. Her lips pressed into that sharp, unreadable line. Her silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she writes something with that fancy fountain pen.
Cold. Composed. Glowing and terrifying as usual.
She doesn't even look up.
My feet suddenly feel heavy, but I step inside anyway and gently close the door behind me.
I clear my throat. “Professor…”
Still no reaction.
I walk forward and sit in the chair across her desk, trying not to squirm under the thick silence between us. I set my bag down quietly, hoping she doesn’t notice how messy I look. Or how red my lips probably still are. Or the slight limp in my walk. Or—
Wait.
Shit.
Did I zip up properly?
“Professor…” I say again, softer this time. “Can we review now?”
She finally looks up.
And it’s not just look up—she scans me.
From my disheveled hair, down to my flushed cheeks, to the buttons of my shirt and the uneven hem of my blazer, then slowly to my slacks…
And then back to my face.
Her gaze is cold. Sharp. Calculating.
Like she’s peeling me open without touching me.
Then she finally speaks.
I blink. What—
My jaw drops.
I want the ground to open up and swallow me right now.
She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
I want to die.
She tilts her head. “I don’t want apologies, Miss Costa. I want consistency.”
I swallow hard. I want to shrink into my seat.
But then her eyes soften—just a little.
Like a flicker. A crack in the ice.
She sighs and removes her glasses, placing them on the table. She rubs the bridge of her nose before looking at me again—this time less cold, but still unreadable.
My chest tightens. I nod. “I understand, Professor. I really do. I just…”
She waits. Quiet. Waiting for me to continue.
I look down at my hands. “I’m going through something po. A lot of things. But I’ll manage it. Hindi ko po idadamay sa work natin.”
There’s a silence that stretches for a few seconds too long.
Then she speaks again, softer this time.
I look up. “Po?”
I clench my fists on my lap. Because she’s right.
And it hurts more because it’s her saying it.
Her expression shifts—barely. But I catch it.
A flash of something in her eyes. Worry? Empathy?
Or… something else?
I feel my throat tighten.
Her words hit too close.
She stands slowly, walks around her desk, and leans back against it—now directly in front of me. So close. Her arms are crossed, her gaze fixed on me.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know where to look.
So I stare at her shoes.
My eyes snap up to hers.
She knows.
Maybe not who, but she knows what.
And I feel exposed.
Her lips twitch—almost a smirk, but not quite. “I don’t need to. I can read the way you walk into a room. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
My heart skips.
She holds my gaze, her voice quiet.
I freeze.
That line.
The weight of it.
The meaning behind it.
She pushes off the desk, walks back to her seat, and puts her glasses on again like nothing happened.
Like she didn’t just throw a fucking grenade into my chest.