Maya just stood outside Professor Laird's office , one hand on the strap of her bag, the other curled into a loose fist at her side. The old wooden door stood slightly ajar, just enough for the scent of coffee to drift into the hall. Bellwood's English Department always smelled like thought-ink, stress and dreams.
Then she knocked lightly.
"Come in, Maya," Professor Laird called, his warm, sonorous voice immediately recognizable.
Maya stepped inside, already trying on her polite, professional smile like a mask. The office was exactly as she remembered, overcrowded with books, faded tapestries onto cork boards, and a desk that looked like it hadn't been fully uncovered since the Clinton administration.
Laird looked up from his chair, spectacles slipping low on his nose, and gestured for her to sit. 'Glad you could spare a moment."
"Of course," she said, settling into the armchair across from his desk. "Is everything alright?"
"More than alright," he replied, his eyes gleaming. He turned to a pile of papers, shuffling through them with the enthusiasm of a man about to reveal a winning lottery ticket. "It's about Logan Hayes."
Maya's spine went rigid beneath her calm. "Oh?"
Professor Laird pulled out a printed essay, sliding it across the desk toward her like an offering. "This is what he submitted for the recent critical analysis exam. Take a look."
Maya leaned forward, skimming the title: "Monstrous Mirrors: Moral Duality and Narcissism in 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.'" Her eyes danced over the first few paragraphs, then stopped.
The writing was precise. Daring. Literary references folded in almost perfectly. The argument was tightly impressive.
He didn't just understand the book. He had dissected it. Flayed it open and turned its insides into poetry.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Laird said, his voice humming with approval. "One of the best analyses I've read this term. I have to say, I was surprised."
Maya didn't look up.
No. No one went from misquoting metaphors to this in a week. No one who slouched in a chair like they had nowhere to be and all the time in the world suddenly turned in literary gold.
She felt the flush start low in her belly. Not the good kind.
"He mentioned your sessions," Laird continued. "Said you were helping him...unlock things. That it wasn't just tutoring, it was inspiration."
Maya clenched her jaw but she forced a neutral expression. "That's very flattering."
"More than that," Laird said, chuckling. "You're making a real difference, Maya. I'd like to keep the two of you paired for the rest of the term. Clearly, something's working."
Maya nodded, "Of course."
But inside her head, a very different conversation was happening.
He played you.
This wasn't a breakthrough for Maya, it was a revelation.
The whole dumb act, the way he stumbled through sentences and leaned in too close during sessions, he was never clueless, he chose to be.
She handed the paper back with steady fingers. "It's good to know the effort's paying off."
Laird beamed. It is. Honestly, it's rare to see such a transformation. I might ask Logan to present in class."
"Hmm." She smiled faintly. "I'm sure he'd enjoy the spotlight."
Professor Laird didn't catch the edge in her voice. He simply leaned back, the picture of a proud mentor. "Keep up the good work, Maya. Whatever you're doing, It's clearly working."
Maya stood, slipping her bag over her shoulder. "Thank you, Professor. I'll do my best."
He waved her off with a nod, already diving back into a stack of essays.
She closed the door softly behind her and started down the hall, with a slow pace.
She was outwardly composed. Inwardly? She almost exploded with rage.
Of course he turned in brilliance. Of course he used their sessions not to learn, but to watch her and play her. He made sure that he studied her enough to gauge when to drop the act.
He wanted her intrigued. Now she was livid.
Not just at him, but also at herself. For buying it. For thinking she had the upper hand. For letting herself tolerate him.
As she reached the end of the hall, she yanked out her phone. Her fingers hovered over his name in her messages, then curled into a fist instead. 'Not yet.' she thought.
---
The little cafe just off campus was bustling with lunch hour chatter and the scent of grilled paninis and too strong espresso. Students crowded outdoor tables under the dappled shade of strung fairy lights and rustling trees. A guitar guy strung strummed something vaguely recognizable on the corner while a bird aggressively eyed half a croissant two tables away.
Maya slid into the chair across from Sienna, dropping her canvas tote beside her feet, and she let out a sigh so dramatic it earned her a full body side-eye from her best friend.
"Uh-oh," Sienna said, already grinning. "That's the sound of a woman with regret in her bones and drama in her inbox."
Maya didn't answer immediately. She picked up her menu, studied it like it could solve her emotional crisis, then set it down and leaned across the table.
"You were right."
Sienna blinked. Then blinked again.
"I'm sorry, what?" she asked, cupping one hand to her ear. "Could you just, say it again? Into my phone this time, for posterity."
"I said you were right," Maya muttered.
"Oh no no," Sienna sang, full wattage glee now lighting up her face. "I need volume. Projection. Give it the Broadway treatment, girl!"
Maya rolled her eyes. "About Logan."
That's when Sienna broke.
She threw her head back and let out a laugh so loud that the table next to them turned to look. A couple of fries flew off her plate in the process. "I TOLD YOU!" she cackled. "I told you he was a smooth little sociopath wrapped in a Calvin Klein ad! Didn't I tell you?!"
Maya groaned, slumping in her chair. "Don't rub it in."
"Oh, I'm bathing in it," Sienna said gleefully. "I'm scrubbing it into my pores like an exfoliating scrub made of righteous vindication."
Maya couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. "It's not funny. He played me."
"He psychedelic jazzed you," Sienna said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. 'He faked being dumb. Dumb! And you, Maya, the literal queen of academic vigilance, bought it."
"I know," Maya dragged a hand over her face. "I should've seen it. The essay he submitted was...brilliant. Like, disgustingly brilliant. No one improves that fast unless they were already a secretive genius. He totally conned me."
Sienna reached across the table and grabbed a sweet potato fry off Maya's plate like it was her reward for surviving this plot twist. "Okay, but also...why is that kind of hot?"
Maya narrowed her eyes.
"I'm just saying," Sienna added quickly, "there's something spicy about a guy pulling a long con just to spend time with you."
"It's deranged," Maya corrected. "Manipulative. Textbook red flag territory."
"Yeah.' Sienna nodded solemnly. "Hot red flags."
Maya groaned, "You are no help."
"I am the most help," Sienna said, biting into the fry. "Because I'm the one who told you not to go near Mr. Brooding McFakeFace in the first place. But you had to go all 'Maybe he just needs guidance' like you're starring in a Hallmark movie where the guy owns a bookstore and trauma."
Maya snorted into her iced tea.
Sienna leaned in with mock-serious eyes. "Next time a man smolders at you from under heavy lashes, I need you to remember this moment. My voice. Saying, Run Bitch."
Maya was laughing now, the tightness in her chest finally giving way under Sienna's no filter banter.
"I can't believe I didn't see it coming," she said, fiddling with her straw.
"You were distracted by the jawbones," Sienna said sagely.
"I wasn't!"
"You were," Sienna grinned. "I've seen you tutor guys with zero sexual tension and a body odor problem and you never once forgot your syllabus. But this one tosses a Dorian Gray quote and your brain turns into flan."
"I hate you."
"You love me," Sienna said with a smug. "So, what now?"
Maya dabbed her napkin against her lips and stood, grabbing her tote. "Now? I confront him. Tomorrow."
Sienna nearly choked on her soda. "Ooooh, girl. You're going in?"
"Absolutely."
Sienna stood too, brushing crumbs off her jeans. "Should I bring popcorn? or bail money?"
"I'm going to be calm. Civil."
"You? Civil?" Sienna cackled. "Not if he smirks. You lose your moral compass when he smirks."
"I do not!"
"You do." Sienna pulled her sunglasses from the top of her head with a flourish. "God, I can't wait. Just don't make-out with him mid-confrontation."
Maya tossed her napkin at her and started walking.
Sienna fell in step beside her, still chuckling. "For real though, you got this. Just remember, he may be clever, but you are too. And that's terrifying in the best way."
Maya smiled slowly and wickedly. "Oh, he has no idea what's coming."
And Sienna bust out laughing at the corny wicked face Maya was attempting to make to seem intimidating.