“Yes… it’s definitely her.”
I barely slept that night.
The following week, things became even stranger.
When class ended, everyone left.
I picked up my bag too, but he said,
“Emily. Wait.”
By then, I was tired of it.
“Professor, if there’s a problem with my grade, you can just tell me.”
He looked at the clock.
“No. This isn’t about your grade.”
Then he walked toward the door.
And closed it.
I heard the lock click.
My heart began pounding.
He returned to his desk, placed both hands on its edge, and said,
“Don’t tell anyone what’s about to happen.”
I took a step backward.
“What are you talking about?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he took out his phone and sent someone a message.
“She’s here,” he said quietly.
I tightened my grip on my bag, ready to leave.
“I’m going.”
“Emily, please. Just give me five minutes.”
“Open the door.” What happened next read in the comments
He opened it immediately.
That calmed me a little, but I was still ready to walk out.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Someone was coming toward the room.
I looked back at Professor Hayes.
He seemed nervous.
It was the first time I had ever seen him like that.
The door opened.
A woman in her early sixties stepped inside carrying an old brown box.
The moment she saw me, she froze.
Then she covered her mouth with one hand.
Her eyes filled with tears.
