JULIETTE

I sat at my desk, the quiet hum of my laptop filling the room. The screen glared back at me with its empty white page, daring me to fill it with something worth reading. My fingers hovered over the keys, a bundle of nerves making it difficult to focus. The essay Adrian had assigned loomed over me like a mountain I wasn’t sure I could climb. The topic seemed simple enough—personal reflection. But for someone like me, who kept her thoughts close to her chest, it felt like an invitation to unravel everything I’d tried so hard to keep buried. I wasn’t sure how much of myself I wanted to give to him, or anyone for that matter.

I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Why is he making me do this?” I muttered, as if talking to the room would somehow make the task less daunting. “It’s just an essay. Just something I need to get through.” But even as the words left my lips, I knew they weren’t true. I couldn’t pretend this was just a harmless assignment. There was something about Adrian’s feedback, his presence, that made everything feel more significant, more personal. This wasn’t just about grades—it felt like a test of something deeper. My mind raced as I tried to push the thought away. Was I really ready to open up like that?

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts, and began to type. My fingers moved clumsily at first, unsure of where to start. How much was I willing to share? Could I even write about myself without it feeling like I was standing naked in front of the world? I thought about my childhood, the little moments I’d tucked away in the corners of my mind, the pieces of me that had never been shared. The rawness of it all was both liberating and terrifying.

But then, just as quickly, doubt crept in. I stopped typing and stared at the screen. What if Adrian read it and thought I was weak? What if he saw all the things I tried to hide, the parts of myself I couldn’t control? I didn’t want to be seen like that, vulnerable and exposed.

I shook my head, trying to quiet the voice in my head. “Focus,” I told myself. I needed to finish it, get it out. But as I continued to write, the words felt like they were coming from someone else. Someone I didn’t recognize. Someone who had the courage to be real, to be open. Was that really me?

The essay became a strange mirror, reflecting parts of myself I had never wanted to confront. It wasn’t just about the surface—about the grades or the assignment—it was about something much deeper, something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. I kept writing, unsure of where it would lead, but unable to stop myself. And when I finally closed my laptop for the night, the weight of it all hung heavy in the air. I wasn’t sure if I had written anything good, but I had written something real. And that was the hardest part.

The next day, Adrian’s feedback arrived. It was brief, but it sent a shock through me when I saw it. “You have depth,” it read. “Your writing shows vulnerability, which is rare.”

I blinked at the screen, reading the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. Depth? Vulnerability? Those were words I had never expected to hear about myself. I wasn’t anyone special. I was just a college student, trying to navigate my way through the mess of life.

But Adrian saw something in me. Something I didn’t see in myself.

I read the comments again, trying to understand what he meant. “You’re capable of so much more than you think,” he had written. The words echoed in my mind long after I had closed my laptop. Adrian wasn’t just offering academic feedback. He was seeing me—really seeing me—in a way that no one else ever had. It was like he had looked past the surface, past all the walls I had carefully constructed, and had found something worth paying attention to.

I tried to convince myself that it was just part of his job. He was a professor, after all. He was supposed to give thoughtful feedback. But deep down, I couldn’t ignore the way his words made me feel. It wasn’t just about the essay. It was about something else entirely.

The following week, after class, Adrian asked me to stay behind. My heart skipped a beat as I watched the rest of the students file out, leaving me alone with him in the quiet of the classroom. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but the nervous flutter in my chest told me it wasn’t just about academic matters.

“Is everything okay?” Adrian asked, his tone softer than usual as he approached my desk. He stood there for a moment, his gaze steady, almost concerned.

I nodded quickly, trying to mask my anxiety. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

He smiled, though there was an intensity in his eyes that made my pulse quicken. “I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed your essay,” he said. “It was honest, and that’s not something I see very often.”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks. Honest? Me? It didn’t feel like I had been honest. It felt like I had bared a part of myself that I wasn’t ready to share, and now Adrian had seen it. But there was something in his voice that made me feel like it wasn’t a bad thing. He wasn’t judging me—he was acknowledging me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, unsure of how to respond. The compliment felt both exhilarating and terrifying, as if I was standing at the edge of something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

“You’re capable of so much more than you think,” he repeated, his voice low, as if the words were meant just for me.

I could feel the weight of his words settling in the pit of my stomach. He didn’t know me, not really. But somehow, he saw something in me that I had never seen before. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge, but that didn’t stop me from feeling it.

Days passed, but Adrian’s words stayed with me, rattling around in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me, the way he listened when I spoke. There was something in his gaze that made me feel like I mattered. It wasn’t just about the essay anymore. It was something deeper, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

Then, one afternoon, I ran into him at the coffee shop on campus. My heart lurched when I saw him standing in line, his back turned toward me. I wasn’t sure what to do, whether I should say something or pretend like I hadn’t noticed him. But before I could make up my mind, he turned around, his face lighting up with a warm smile.

“Hey, Juliette,” he said, as if it was completely normal for him to run into me like this. As if he didn’t have a dozen other students to deal with. “It’s good to see you outside of class.”

I swallowed, trying to steady my nerves. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too.”

His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, a glimmer of something I couldn’t quite read passing between us. “How’s everything going with your work? You seem to be doing really well.”

I shrugged, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again. “It’s going okay. Just trying to stay on top of things.”

He smiled again, his gaze softening as he looked at me. “I think you’re doing more than okay. You’ve got potential, Juliette. Don’t forget that.”

For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of us, and I felt a warmth spread through me. Adrian wasn’t just being kind. There was something about the way he spoke to me, the way he made me feel like I mattered, that made my heart skip a beat.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was more to this than I was willing to admit.