The weekend drags on, and Grace can feel her body growing weaker with each passing hour. Her head continues to throb, and the persistent coughing seems to have no end. By the time Monday morning arrives, the exhaustion weighs heavily on her. She knows she can't make it to class again.
"Mom…" Grace rasps, the words breaking through another fit of coughing as she struggles to speak on the phone.
Her mother's voice comes through, concerned. "Don't go to class today either. You can't be around all those people while you're coughing like that."
"Yeah… I thought the same," Grace murmurs, her head pounding in agreement.
"Rest up, honey. I'm so grateful to Harry for sending you the notes from class."
Grace manages a tired smile, despite her discomfort.
"Yeah… he's a really good friend."
Her mother's voice softens, but it's clear she's multitasking, focused on something else. "Alright, I'll see you tonight. Take care of yourself, okay?"
"I will, Mom. Love you."
"Love you too. Get some rest."
Grace doesn't hesitate. She leaves the phone pressed against her ear for a moment longer, then quickly scrolls through her contacts. Her fingers hover over Harry's name before she presses "call."
The phone rings once, twice, and within three seconds, Harry picks up.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" he asks, his voice laced with concern.
"Well…" Grace coughs sharply, the sound cutting through the air before she continues, "I don't think I can make it to class today either."
Harry's voice softens, the worry clear. "You definitely don't sound good. Don't worry about class. I'll send you the notes right after. Just focus on resting, okay?"
Grace's heart swells with gratitude.
"Thank you, Harry."
The call ends, and she places the phone down on the bed beside her, sinking back into the softness of the mattress. She exhales heavily, a deep sigh of frustration mixed with weariness.
"Wow... this time, it's getting severe," she murmurs, then coughs again, her body shaking with the force of it.
She's completely drained, unable to summon any energy to think of anything beyond the haze of exhaustion. But even so, a thought slips into her mind, one she doesn't welcome, but can't escape.
Professor Julian…
He lingers in her thoughts. She probably won't be seeing him tomorrow. Not with this relentless coughing.
Grace closes her eyes, her chest tight with a strange blend of sadness and indifference. She can't place why she feels this way—like she should care more, but she doesn't. Maybe it's because she never expected to miss him, or maybe it's because she's just not feeling good at the moment.
The next morning, Julian walks down the quiet hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. As he approaches the lecture hall, he feels an unexpected fluttering in his chest, a light nervousness that he can't quite place. He stops for a moment, puzzled by the sensation, but dismisses it with a small sigh. The door to the lecture hall stands before him, and with a steadying breath, he opens it and steps inside.
The room is empty.
Of course, it is. It's still early.
He takes in the silence for a moment, then his eyes drift toward the back seat—the one that Grace always occupied. The seat is vacant, just as it should be, but for some reason, Julian can't tear his gaze away from it. He's here extra early, just like last Thursday, and glances at the clock—8:00 AM. There are still thirty minutes until class begins.
In the next few minutes, a few students trickle in, greeting him with casual waves and murmured hellos. Some of the girls chat excitedly about dinner plans for Thursday, their voices light and cheerful. Julian smiles and nods in acknowledgment, but in the back of his mind, his thoughts stray to Grace. He imagines her there at the dinner, surrounded by the same group, and for a split second, a strange warmth stirs within him.
It's a thought that unsettles him. He's never seen her outside of campus since they first met at Mellany, and the idea of seeing her in a social setting, especially with all the other students, feels… unfamiliar. Almost wrong.
As the clock ticks closer to 8:30, Julian scans the room, noting the presence of nineteen students, their voices blending into the low hum of the space. His eyes settle on Harry, who is seated comfortably in the middle row this time. But there's one empty seat beside him.
No Grace Silver.
The fluttering in his chest dies down, replaced by a hollow disappointment. It's a strange feeling, this mixture of calm and sadness. He can't quite explain it, but it lingers as he scans the room again, almost as if he expects to see her walk in at any moment.
Is she absent because she's sick?
The thought lingers, and Julian finds himself unable to shake it, the quiet disappointment settling into a deeper concern.
Julian can't seem to shake the last image of Grace from his mind—the way she walked out of the lecture hall last Thursday, looking tired, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.
He wants to ask Harry about her, to see if he knows whether she's sick or if something else is going on. But before he can act on the thought, Julian shakes his head ever so slightly, a subtle movement that only he notices. With a soft exhale, he opens the presentation file on his laptop and powers on the screen behind the podium.
The clock hits 8:30 AM, and the class officially begins.
"Today, we'll walk through the history of Renaissance fashion," Julian begins, his voice smooth and confident. "When you think of the Renaissance period, what comes to mind first? Anyone want to share some of the key characteristics that come to mind…"
His words flow easily, and he carries the lecture with a quiet charisma. The room falls into a focused silence, each student hanging on his every word. There's something magnetic about his presence—something in the way he speaks with such articulation and authority that draws the entire class into his orbit. The students are captivated, their attention unwavering.
In the middle of this engrossing lecture, the door creaks open, and Julian's heart skips a beat. His gaze automatically shifts toward the entrance.
It's only the TA—an enthusiastic doctoral student from the fashion design program—entering to take her seat at the back.
Julian feels a wave of disappointment wash over him, a subtle sinking feeling that tightens his chest.
It's not Grace. Of course, it isn't.
But despite the flicker of disappointment, he doesn't allow a single trace of it to show on his face. He's the professor, after all, and he continues the lecture without missing a beat, his voice steady and professional, as if nothing has changed.
After an hour of walking around the front of the class, Julian pauses, taking a brief moment to collect himself.
He scans the room, his eyes briefly flickering over the students before he announces, "Let's take a ten-minute break."
The classroom stirs to life as students stand up, stretching and engaging in quiet chatter. Julian's eyes automatically drift to Harry, who is hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard with focused intensity.
Julian's instinct is to ask Harry why Grace is absent, but for some reason, he can't bring himself to do it. There's something in the air, some invisible hesitation that stops him.
Maybe when he gets up to leave, I'll casually ask him, Julian thinks, trying to convince himself.
He busies himself with going through the class materials on his own laptop, though his thoughts keep drifting back to the question that won't leave him.
As the break stretches on, Julian notices Harry hasn't moved. He remains engrossed in whatever he's doing on his laptop, not even glancing up. The opportunity feels like it slips away, like the moment to ask is lost.
When the break ends, Julian closes his laptop with a soft click, standing up to resume the lecture.
An hour of the class passes by quickly, almost without Julian noticing.
"Alright, that's it for today's class," he announces, his voice carrying easily over the room. "Please be sure to complete the readings listed on the syllabus for next time."
The students begin to gather their things, the noise of shifting backpacks and murmured conversations filling the air. Julian watches as they stand and file out of the room. Harry follows the others, tucking his laptop into his backpack, his eyes down as he types something into his phone.
As the students pass by, they offer polite, casual words, their voices light.
"Thank you, Professor!" one girl says brightly, her voice full of gratitude.
"Have a great day!" another adds as she heads toward the door.
The guys do the same, nodding as they walk out.
"Thanks a lot," one says, smiling.
"Have a good day," another adds with a wave.
But Harry, the one Julian wants to casually start a conversation with to ask about Grace, is different. He's so absorbed in his phone that he barely notices the others around him. His steps are slow, as if time doesn't matter to him right now, completely immersed in whatever he's typing.
Julian feels a brief pang of frustration but swallows it down. He calls out to him from the back of the room.
"Harry."