"Professor, I just want to say sorry for that moment back then," she says, pausing as they reach the elevator.
Julian turns toward her, his voice casual, almost teasing.
"What?" as if he's forgotten the whole thing.
Grace lowers her voice, barely above a whisper. "I mean, back then... at the hotel."
Julian nods knowingly, though he keeps his cool. He's been aware of her meaning all along but plays it off with effortless nonchalance.
"Oh, that. It's all right. You made it home okay?" he asks, smoothly shifting the topic.
Grace nods, her gaze flickering toward the open elevator doors.
"Yeah, I did. How about…" she trails off and steps inside. "You?"
"Yeah, of course," Julian replies, pressing the button for the first floor.
Inside the elevator, the silence settles again. Both stare at the closing doors, caught in their own thoughts. Grace wants to ask if anything strange happened—if he noticed someone lurking behind him, or any shadow that might have followed him—but she hesitates.
Should I tell him about the photos? The stalker?
Julian senses her hesitation.
His voice breaks through gently. "Is there something you want to say?"
They step out into the lobby, and Grace looks up, meeting his steady gaze. Something in her shifts—she knows this moment is more than just small talk.
"Well, actually, I've been wanting to tell you this thing where—"
Grace's words cut off abruptly as a high-pitched, overly cheerful voice echoes from behind them.
"Julian!"
Both Grace and Julian turn to see Lena approaching in the lobby, her bright yellow dress almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. She strides confidently toward Julian, leaving little space between them as she slides her arm close to his, invading his personal space with practiced ease.
Grace quickly shifts, polite but formal words escaping her lips. "Have a good day, then," she says, voice tightening slightly, and without waiting for a response, she turns away and briskly heads for the exit.
Julian watches her hurry away, a flicker of regret stirring in his chest. He wants to call her back, to ask what she was about to say, but before he can move, Lena is already beside him, radiant and chatty.
"Julian, are you done with your morning class?" Lena asks brightly, her smile wide and effortless.
Julian's gaze flickers from Grace's retreating back to Lena's eager face. After a moment's thought, he nods.
"Yeah. How's your day, Lena?" he replies, his voice calm and gentle.
"Oh, over the weekend, I went to this new outlet that just opened near the—" Lena launches into her story, her laughter light and infectious as she steers him toward the back door of the building, deliberately avoiding crossing paths with Grace again.
Julian follows, walking beside her, nodding and listening to her animated, if somewhat unremarkable, weekend tale. Yet, his mind drifts back to Grace—wondering what she was about to say, feeling a silent pull he can't quite shake.
Grace walks alone along the campus path, the rustling autumn breeze brushing through her hair—the soft, chestnut strands lifting and falling around her shoulders, grazing the line just above her chest. Golden leaves swirl along the sidewalk, catching in the quiet hush of late afternoon.
Maybe it was for the best, she reflects. That I didn't say anything to him in that moment. Maybe her showing up stopped me from making a mistake. If I told Professor Julian about the stalker—about the pictures, especially the one at the hotel—what would he have done? Would he have felt guilty? Pressured? Pulled away from me?
The thought makes her chest tighten.
She stops at the edge of the bus stop, watching the traffic drift past as the trees sway above.
She doesn't want him to see her as a burden. Doesn't want their… connection, whatever it is, to feel like a liability. Technically, it's nothing more than a professor-student relationship. But she knows better. She feels the quiet intimacy between them—the way his gaze lingers, the way he speaks to her differently.
And Julian, for all his confidence, is composed almost to a fault. She can tell how tightly he controls how he's perceived. If he knew someone was out there watching them—stalking her, taking photos in secret, threatening her—he'd shut everything down.
He'd retreat behind a wall of professionalism. And she would lose this fragile, undefined thing between them.
"Maybe… maybe I really need to do something before things get worse," she murmurs, stepping onto the bus.
But just as she takes a seat near the window, a thought slams into her like a cold wind.
The letter.
Her eyes go wide.
"Oh—right!" she blurts, startling the driver.
She jumps up.
"Sorry!" she says quickly, rushing to the door as the driver gives her a puzzled nod and opens it back up.
She hops down to the pavement and breaks into a brisk walk, heading back toward the administration office—her boots crunching leaves beneath her feet, her heart racing.
That letter needs to be delivered. She wrote it with care, with purpose—and it belongs in his hands.
Evening settles softly over Julian's studio apartment—a clean, minimalist space touched with soft ivory tones and sleek design. The lighting is warm, golden, casting long shadows across the polished floor.
Classical piano music floats gently through the air, playing from a hidden speaker system—something slow and expressive, the kind of melody that invites stillness. The room smells faintly of cedar and fresh linen.
Julian, freshly back from his run and a quick shower, lounges on the sofa. He's wearing a loose white T-shirt that clings slightly to his damp skin, his dark hair still wet, casually tousled. Black athletic shorts hang low on his hips, and his bare feet rest on the plush rug beneath the coffee table.
In his hand, he holds a blue envelope.
His fingers trace the edge of it as he reclines against the cushions, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. He already knows who it's from—Grace Silver.
He'd picked it up earlier that day at the administration office.
"This is the letter the student you paid the tuition for wrote," the woman at the desk had said, smiling as she handed it over. "She seemed so excited to give it to you, Professor Lenter."
Julian had taken the envelope with a quiet nod, his expression unreadable—but now, here in the privacy of his apartment, he lets his emotions show. There's something about Grace's sincerity, her quiet intensity, that lingers in his mind long after their conversations end.
He sits back fully, the music wrapping around him like a soft breeze, and slowly opens the envelope. The flap lifts cleanly—no tearing, no rush.
Inside is a single sheet of stationery, folded neatly.
He pulls it out and unfolds it with care.
The handwriting is unmistakably hers—precise, delicate, but with an airy, almost wind-swept rhythm. There's movement in it, like thought flowing freely.
Julian smirks to himself, more fond than amused, and begins to read.
Hi, this is Grace Silver. I suppose you know me as the girl you helped with tuition. I'm writing this letter simply because I want to say thank you. I couldn't let your kindness go without a proper expression of gratitude. That's just not my style.>
Julian smiles.
"Grace is always Grace," he whispers with a quiet chuckle, eyes skimming the lines, his thumb lightly brushing the edge of the paper.
He pauses.
His smile softens. That—he hadn't known. Not fully. He'd suspected she was under pressure, but not like this.
A flicker of something tugs at his chest. A warmth edged with something heavier.
Julian raises a brow at that, lips twitching with amusement.
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well, that escalated quickly."
From Grace Silver>