Look At That A$$

Two weeks had slipped away since Madison and Professor Michael's initial encounter within the cozy confines of her bookstore.

The romantic thriller handpicked by Madison proved to be precisely what the genteel professor required—a crime of passion, less explicit and more fitting for his refined tastes.

Upon their second meeting, Professor Michael returned the novel, only to find Madison lost in contemplation, her distant expression hinting at hidden traumas.

With a gentle smile, he returned the book, declaring his satisfaction with the read, and his lack of further need for it.

When inquired about how the book had aided him, the professor cryptically responded, "It gave me clarity."

Madison, astute in her observations, sensed the middle-aged professor harbored deeper emotions than he revealed. But she never asked.

Madison was preoccupied in her mind, letting her curious nature lose.

With no other customers in sight, Madison cautiously broached the subject of her recent falling-out with someone, omitting specific details.

Professor Michael displayed empathy, remarking, "That must have been quite traumatic."

A subtle smile graced Madison's lips as she recounted another incident involving Charli. The professor's face reflected his genuine concern.

Still reluctant to divulge her own troubles, the professor offered Madison some sagely advice, saying, "You're too young to be burdened by depression.

Do whatever brings you solace, whatever that may be." His eyes subtly conveyed an unspoken proposition.

"Read a novel?" Madison quipped amidst the turmoil of her emotions, managing a touch of humor with her esteemed customer.

His face hinting at hesitation, the professor replied, "Yes, including reading a novel."

Their conversation hung in the air, laden with unspoken sentiments, as if they were bidding farewell.

Given their two brief encounters, parting ways shouldn't have felt this difficult.

"Goodbye," the professor uttered with a solemn visage as they parted.

Madison concealed her hurt, not just for losing a customer but for losing the only person she had encountered willing to listen to her tumultuous past without judgment.

She managed a feigned smile, which went unnoticed by the professor, as she spoke softly, "You might find your way back here one day. You can never be too certain."

"I'm sure," he responded, his voice filled with conviction.

He sought the perfect murder story, a tale of love and passion intertwined with crime—a timeless narrative as ancient as the universe itself.

Madison had selected the ideal choice for him, and as he delved into its pages, clarity washed over him.

Why indeed would he ever return?

****

Outside Professor Michael's office, a gathering of students had congregated, settling into the chairs that lined the hallway.

In this assembly of more than ten individuals, only a solitary girl was among them.

Engaged in earnest conversation, they all seemed preoccupied with the task of completing graduation forms.

"Finance department fucked me over", was the main theme, "with credit exceptions."

The chairs on one side were all occupied, leaving only a small space where four students stood.

Among them was the sole girl, surrounded by three young men, two of whom positioned themselves in front of her.

Elsewhere the hallways were full.

The heavenly beauty managed to walk from the crowded hallways, and turn towards Professor Michael's shared office; where scrutinizing eyes were waiting.

This office space, which was shared by three different lecturers, was bustling with activity.

The graduating students were on the lookout for two specific lecturers, but the figure that approached them wasn't one of them; she was there to meet Professor Michael.

Emerging from the far end of the long corridor, she began to catch the attention of those present one by one.

As she drew closer, all eyes were fixed upon her, following her every step.

Her countenance remained composed as she navigated the corridor confidently, passing by both the seated and standing students, until she reached the door to Professor Michael's office.

A tall young man, standing at a striking six feet, couldn't conceal his surprise as he muttered, "look at that ass!"

The already quiet corridors suddenly fell into a profound silence, with everyone momentarily stunned by the unexpected comment.

It seemed as though all eyes had turned to scrutinize her posterior in response to the young man's uncouth remark.

Eyeballs rolled in their sockets proving him right, rather than condemning his behavior. The sole woman standing in the midst also agreed.

The young woman, who had been acutely aware of the gazes fixed upon her, the unusual hush that had fallen over the corridor, and the indecent comment, chose to look back.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the onlookers, not singling out anyone in particular.

With a graceful but determined demeanor, she reached for the door and gave it a composed knock. Then opened the door.

Inside, Professor Michael, unknowingly, awaited her arrival.

The day had stretched on interminably, a seemingly endless journey for Mr. Michael. Fatigue had begun to seep into his bones.

As she entered the office, Professor Michael remained engrossed in his work, his eyes fixed upon the computer screen, fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

The other lecturers, still engrossed in their dealings with students, hardly registered her arrival.

The girl positioned herself in front of Professor Michael's cluttered desk, her tall and elegant figure a silent announcement of her presence.

Adjusting his glasses with a calm precision, Professor Michael finally tore his attention away from the computer screen to acknowledge the young woman before him.

His face, while displaying an outwardly emotionless veneer, concealed eyes that held a depth of sophistication, making him a challenging book to read. She sensed this and chose not to probe further.

"Good evening, sir," she greeted, her tone polite and measured.

Swallowing nervously, Professor Michael, now feeling increasingly uncomfortable and intimidated by the young woman's presence, hesitated to meet her gaze directly. Instead, he turned his attention back to his computer monitor and inquired, "How may I assist you?"

Taking her time, the girl handed over the papers she had brought with her, extending them toward him with an air of patience.

As he accepted the documents, his observant eyes couldn't help but notice the meticulous grooming of her fingernails. Quickly averting his gaze, he withdrew his eyes to maintain professionalism.

Reading the name printed on the papers, he spoke in a voice that was deep yet almost hushed, "Charlotte."

Approaching Professor Michael's desk, eighteen-year-old Charlotte began to elucidate her purpose to the lecturer, detailing the matter that required his assistance.

Meanwhile, Professor Michael, now commencing his work of aiding Charlotte, mentally wrapped up any lingering thoughts he had been entertaining.

As he metaphorically started the engine of his professionalism, he cast one last, contemplative look at Charlotte, setting aside whatever had preoccupied his mind before he turned his focus toward addressing Charlotte's needs.

She was a new student, taking a double major, a degree in data analysis and another in psychology.

A rare talent.