She walks quietly down the hallway of the old academic building, the familiar hum of campus life muted by the thick doors and aged walls. The soft echo of her footsteps feels unusually loud in her own ears. She stops just before his office door, lifting her hand to knock—
But freezes.
A voice carries faintly through the wood.
"I think she'll come soon."
Julian.
Her hand hovers mid-air, her pulse quickening. She leans forward slightly, hardly meaning to, caught by the gravity of his voice.
He's on the phone.
But it's what comes next that makes her heart thud against her ribs like a fist against a locked door:
"I don't think there's any reason for you to stop your feelings toward her. You like her — then express it."
The words hit her like a sudden gust of wind, stealing her breath. Her eyes widen, a sharp inhale catching in her throat.
Is he… talking about me?
She doesn't know who's on the other side of that call, doesn't know the full story — but hope rises fast in her chest, wild and terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
And then, softly, she hears Julian laugh — that quiet, slightly husky laugh of his.
"Well… she's coming in soon, so I'll talk to you later. Yeah, thanks, Eugene. All right."
The call ends. Silence again. Except for her heartbeat, which is now louder than anything in the building.
Grace lets out a shaky exhale, pressing her lips together to stop the ridiculous, involuntary smile spreading across her face.
I came here to tell him how I feel… but I think I just heard him say it first. She doesn't hesitate this time.
Three sharp knocks.
Light. Steady. Just enough to be heard.
Inside, Julian straightens. His steps approach, and for a moment she feels like the heroine of a story walking straight into the scene she didn't know she'd been waiting for.
Then the door swings open.
Julian stands there, leaning slightly into the frame, the picture of calm. Almost too calm.
"Hi, Grace," he says softly, as if she's just stopped by for coffee on an ordinary afternoon. "You're early."
"Yeah… kind of early, I guess."
"Come in."
She steps past him into the familiar office. The scent of books, faint coffee, and that subtle, crisp autumn air he always brings with him settles around her. To anyone watching, Grace looks confident — poised, collected — but inside, nerves are dancing wild across her ribs.
She sits on the soft old sofa, smoothing her skirt out of habit.
Julian lingers for a moment like he's deciding whether to move toward the tea set or just… stay near her. His hand twitches slightly at his side.
"Do you want tea or something?" he asks finally, his voice quieter, more careful now.
Grace just shakes her head, her smile lingering.
"No, I'm good."
"All right."
He drifts to his desk but doesn't sit, instead leaning his weight against the edge, folding his arms casually, his fingers tapping a quiet rhythm along his sleeve. He's trying to play it cool — but the slight tension in his shoulders betrays him.
"So… you said you wanted to tell me something?"
His voice is steady, practiced — but she can feel it now. That thin thread of nervousness beneath his tone. It makes her want to smile even more.
Her heart beats wildly, but for the first time, she doesn't want to hide from it. She lifts her gaze to him, steady and soft.
"Yeah," she says, voice clear despite the storm inside her, "I did."
He watches her, expression patient, open, expectant.
"First… I wanted to say thank you. Really. For helping me again — this time, and all the other times too."
Julian shrugs with a half-smile.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she presses gently. "You didn't have to. You never had to. But you always did."
Julian exhales slowly through his nose, his smile deepening with a certain fondness.
"I just wanted you safe. That's all."
The weight of that makes her chest ache — in the good kind of way. The way that feels like standing on the edge of something you want to leap into.
"I know," she says softly. "And I've been thinking… about all of it. Since we met. You didn't just help me now — you've always helped me. From Mellany, that night when you pulled me away, to everything after that. It's like…"
Her throat closes slightly on the emotion rising.
"It's like God sent you."
Those words make something flicker across Julian's eyes. A softness. A knowing.
She takes a breath, steadying herself.
"And at first I thought I was just… grateful. That it was just… thankfulness."
She glances down, breaking eye contact just for a second because her heart's racing now, hammering behind her ribs like a wild drum.
"But I think it's more than that."
She lifts her gaze again, steady now, unwavering despite the flush creeping up her neck.
"I like you, Julian. I really like you. And I don't… I don't want to pretend it's anything less than that anymore."
The words hang in the air like sunlight through the window — bold, pure, undeniable.
For a second, Julian doesn't move. Doesn't even blink.
Then — that smile. That quiet, devastating smile that starts in his eyes and curves perfectly across his lips.
"Okay," he says lightly, shrugging one shoulder.
Her jaw almost drops.
"Okay?"
That's it? That's all you've got to say right now?
But before she can even think of what to say next, Julian leans forward slightly, his voice dropping into that lower, quieter register that always makes her stomach twist in ways she doesn't want to admit.
"And I've gotta tell you… I feel—"
A sharp knock cuts him off.
Both of them flinch slightly, heads turning toward the door in unison.
A pause.
Then another knock.
"Julian? Are you inside?" A clear, poised voice comes through the door. "It's time for the conference meeting."
It's Lena.
Grace turns instinctively toward the sound, her brows knitting slightly in surprise. The name feels like a jolt back to reality, pulling her out of the delicate moment she was just in.
Julian closes his eyes for half a second, inwardly cursing himself for forgetting. He was supposed to be at the departmental conference with the Design and Music faculty — right now.
Grace, catching the shift in his expression, rises to her feet, smoothing her clothes more from reflex than necessity.
"I should go," she says gently, her voice soft but decisive. "Looks like you've got somewhere to be."
Julian pushes off the desk, stepping toward her quickly, one hand lifting slightly, like he's going to stop her or — better yet — say something that would keep her there.
"Well, you can just—"
But Grace is already halfway to the door, turning back to him one last time, her eyes catching his with a spark of something brave, something playful.
"Maybe you can call me?" she says, smiling — and it's not coy or uncertain. It's warm, genuine, and alive with the electric aftermath of everything she's just confessed.
Then, with practiced grace, she opens the door.
Lena's eyes widen slightly as the door swings open to reveal Grace standing there, very much not a Design or Music professor. For a heartbeat, Lena's composure wavers — but only for a heartbeat. She quickly recovers, offering a diplomatic half-smile.
"Julian? I guess you were… having student office hours?"
Her tone is casual, professional — almost too casual to be believable.
Grace meets Lena's gaze for a brief moment, offering a quick nod out of politeness, nothing more. No explanation. No apology. Just acknowledgement.
And then she steps past them, her stride light, steady, controlled. She doesn't break into a run, doesn't flinch — but once she's a few steps down the hall, she chooses the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. The last thing she wants is to stand still, awkward and cornered, while Lena and Julian share polite formalities behind her.
As she descends the steps two at a time, a rush of exhilaration rises through her, lifting the corners of her mouth despite everything. Her heart is pounding, but not with embarrassment or regret — with happiness. The words she wanted to say are finally out in the open, and even though the moment got cut off, she's seen enough. Felt enough.
That smile in Julian's eyes… the subtle, faltering edge of his voice… the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
He likes me.
She knows it like she knows her own name. Even if this moment was interrupted, even if there are still words left unsaid, what matters most has already been spoken.
The conference room is dimly lit, with the only bright focus concentrated on the podium at the front of the hall. A soft hum of the projector and occasional rustle of notes fill the otherwise quiet space. On the podium, the Deans of both the Design and Music faculties take turns presenting, their voices amplified across the large room. Charts of global university partnerships flash on the screen behind them, outlining plans for the upcoming joint international conference.
Julian sits upright in his seat, his posture attentive, but his mind split in two. Outwardly, he's engaged — nodding at key points, taking the occasional mental note — but internally, his thoughts drift again and again to Grace. The words she said, the expression in her eyes, the way her voice had faltered just slightly before she confessed.
I think I like you. Like a lot, I guess.