Paper Hearts

**Title: *Paper Hearts***

**Chapter One: The First Look**

The rain had come out of nowhere.

Eva stood under the arched entrance of the humanities building, hugging her books close to her chest. A soft drizzle had turned into a full downpour in minutes. Her long dark hair--usually curled and perfect--was frizzing around her face. She didn't move. She liked the rain. It made the world feel still, and today, she needed the quiet.

Inside, a dozen students hustled to their classes, laughing, chatting, sharing coffee. She watched them like a ghost looking in on the living. She had grown good at pretending. Smiling when needed. Nodding. Laughing on cue. But inside, she was a quiet mess. Twenty-two and utterly, profoundly alone.

Her parents, international business consultants, were always gone. She was raised on silence and empty rooms, on maids and distant phone calls from exotic cities. Only child. Pretty. Smart. Quiet. The girl no one really noticed until she walked by--and then they *noticed*. But Eva never let anyone close. Never had to. Until *he* arrived.

The sound of footsteps broke her stillness.

She turned.

And saw him.

He wasn't soaked like she was--he stood under a large black umbrella, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal coat and a scarf knotted neatly around his throat. Sharp cheekbones, a jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes that seemed to see too much. Thirty-two, maybe. Sophisticated. Controlled. So unlike the boys in her classes who tried too hard to be men.

Their eyes met.

And something shifted.

He stopped walking. Just for a moment. Long enough for the air between them to thicken. Long enough for Eva to feel her pulse skip.

He blinked, cleared his throat, and offered a polite nod. "You must be freezing."

She said nothing.

Because her throat had closed, and her stomach had dropped, and for the first time in years, she felt *something*.

"Come inside," he said, stepping past her and holding the door open. His voice was warm but firm. Not flirty. Not interested. Just kind. Professional.

But Eva... Eva was already spiraling.

She walked in. Close enough to smell his cologne--subtle, expensive. Her shoulder brushed his chest, and he didn't move away fast enough.

The door closed behind them.

She turned. "Are you a visiting professor?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

He looked down at her with a faint smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Actually... I start teaching here today. Professor Langston. English literature."

Her stomach clenched.

She was majoring in English literature.

"I'm Eva," she said. "Final year."

"Nice to meet you," he said, and there was a beat of silence before he added, "I'm married."

Eva raised a brow, lips curling faintly. "That wasn't part of the introduction."

"No," he said slowly, "but sometimes it's better to clarify things early."

She stared at him. Watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed. How tightly he held the strap of his briefcase.

She saw it then. The hesitation.

The way he noticed her.

And how badly he didn't want to.

---

**Chapter Two: The Lecture**

It was the first Friday lecture of the semester, and the air in the auditorium buzzed with idle chatter, coffee-fueled anticipation, and the fluttering of fresh notebooks opening for the first time. Eva sat in the third row--not too eager, not too indifferent--with her legs crossed neatly, a caramel macchiato cooling beside her spiral-bound journal.

To her left was **Nina**, tall and sharp-tongued, a self-described "functional nihilist" who wore leather jackets over vintage poetry T-shirts and flirted with everyone but cared about no one. Her eyeliner could cut glass, and her sarcasm was legendary.

To her right was **Callie**, sweet and sunshiny, a hopeless romantic with an oversized heart and a constantly rotating collection of pastel sweaters. Callie was the kind of girl who doodled flowers in the margins of her notes and cried during Shakespeare soliloquies.

And Eva? Eva sat perfectly in between them. A quiet axis between chaos and calm. With her dark lashes, flawless skin, and unreadable expression, she was the girl who seemed composed--until you really looked at her eyes.

"He's supposed to be new," Callie whispered, leaning in. "Transferred from Oxford or something. Married. I looked him up."

Nina snorted. "Of course you did. Tell me, does he look like a professor or a fantasy?"

Callie just smiled.

Then the side door opened.

And *he* walked in.

Professor Langston. Daniel.

Eva sat straighter without meaning to.

He wore black slacks and a fitted slate-blue button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong forearms and a flash of watch at his wrist. His hair was artfully tousled. He moved like he didn't care who was watching, but everyone *was*.

He set his leather satchel down at the desk and looked up. His gaze swept the auditorium--and paused.

Right on her.

Just a fraction of a second too long.

Eva felt it. The pause. The awareness. The electricity in her spine.

"Good morning," he said, voice rich and smooth as velvet, tinged with a crisp British accent. "I'm Professor Langston. This semester we'll be exploring the language of desire--Shakespeare to Wilde, Austen to D.H. Lawrence. Intimacy. Power. Morality. You'll be surprised how thin the line is between restraint and chaos."

Eva swallowed.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, her fingers curling around her pen. She wasn't blushing. She *never* blushed. But her skin felt hot.

He handed out paper syllabi himself, which no professor had ever bothered to do.

He started at the top row.

Callie elbowed her. "He's *so* handsome. Like, unfairly."

Nina smirked. "Looks like he's the one who's going to need restraint."

They laughed. Eva didn't.

Because he was moving toward them now, stepping lightly down the rows, handing out sheets with a quiet "thank you" or "here you are" and a brief glance--never lingering. Never personal.

Until he reached their row.

He handed one to Callie first. "Here you are."

Then Nina. "You too."

Then--

He looked directly at Eva.

She raised her hand slowly to take the paper.

Their fingers touched.

Barely.

But it hit her like a spark to dry leaves.

Static, tension, heat. A jolt of something far too primal to explain. She sucked in a breath--and he did too. Almost imperceptibly, but she *heard* it. Saw the way his lashes fluttered once, his jaw tighten just a little.

Then his voice, lower now. "Miss..."

"Eva," she said, her throat dry.

His eyes flicked down to her lips. "Right. Eva."

He moved on--but too slowly. Like his body didn't want to leave even if his mind had already told it to walk away.

Callie leaned in instantly. "*Holy shit.* Did you see that?"

"I felt that," Nina murmured. "That was not just paper."

Eva stared down at her syllabus like it might combust.

She'd never believed in that instant spark people talked about.

Until now.

Because that brief graze of skin had burned.

And judging by the tension in his shoulders and the fact that he didn't look at her again for the rest of the lecture, she *knew* he'd felt it too.

He was fighting it.

And she?

She was already planning her next move.

---

**Chapter Three: The Line (Daniel's Perspective)**

It had taken him less than ten minutes to spot her.

She sat in the third row, framed by a curly-haired blonde in a bubblegum sweater and a smirking brunette who looked like she collected trouble like trophies. But it was her--the girl in the middle--who made the room tilt.

She didn't fidget. Didn't chatter. Just sat perfectly still, legs crossed, gaze locked. As if she wasn't listening to him, but *reading* him.

Daniel handed out the syllabi himself. A pointless, sentimental tradition. He liked the smallness of it. The grounding detail of ink on paper, fingers brushing, students murmuring thanks. He needed the human part of the job to anchor him.

He didn't expect *her* fingers to feel like fire.

He didn't expect to meet her eyes and forget what he was about to say.

"Eva," she said. Just that. Her name, soft and simple.

And God help him, he wanted to hear her whisper it in the dark.

He stepped back, moved on, ignoring the pull in his stomach. Married. Professor. Ten years older. *Every* possible line.

He had kissed his wife on the cheek that morning, just like he always did. They weren't perfect--never had been--but they were solid. Supportive. Partners. Not fireworks, but warmth. Stability. A life he had no right to jeopardize.

And yet.

When he called out near the end of class, "I'll need a volunteer to assist me organizing supplemental materials this semester--scanning, filing, some minor editing--nothing thrilling, I'm afraid," he didn't expect a reaction.

Until she raised her hand.

Immediately. No hesitation.

He looked at her.

And she was already looking at him.

"I can help, Professor."

The words came out like an invitation.

Around her, her friends turned--one smirking, one blinking in surprise--but Eva's gaze didn't flicker.

He should've said no.

Should've chosen someone else.

But all he said was: "All right, Eva. My office. Monday. Three o'clock."

---

**Later That Night -- Eva's Home**

The house was too quiet.

Eva kicked off her shoes at the door and dropped her bag on the hallway table. The echo of her steps down the marble floor made her feel like she was walking through a museum--polished, expensive, lifeless.

The grand piano in the corner hadn't been played in years. The dining room looked staged. Her parents' latest "gift"--a bottle of champagne from Tokyo--sat unopened on the counter. They hadn't been home in six weeks. Maybe seven. She'd stopped counting.

"*Mi corazón,* you're home."

A soft voice drifted from the kitchen.

Eva smiled.

There, in a faded apron and sensible slippers, stood **María**, her family's housekeeper since Eva was a child. María had seen her through every fever, heartbreak, and birthday her parents forgot. She was no maid. She was the only person who ever noticed when Eva didn't eat, didn't smile, didn't speak.

"You didn't finish your lunch," María said, pressing a warm hand to her cheek. "You get too skinny when you're sad."

"I'm not sad," Eva said, leaning into the touch.

"You get quiet when you are. I know your silences."

María handed her a plate--sopa de fideo and fresh bread. Eva took it without protest and sat at the kitchen island.

"I met someone today," she murmured between bites.

María looked up from the stove. "A boy?"

Eva's lips curled faintly. "A man. My professor."

María's eyes narrowed, hands pausing mid-stir. "That sounds dangerous."

"He's... different. Controlled. Careful. But I saw it. The way he looked at me. Like he already knew he shouldn't."

"And what did *you* do?"

"I raised my hand."

María turned back to the pot with a sigh and muttered something in Spanish that Eva pretended not to catch.

After dinner, Eva stood at her window, lights off, watching the world below. She wrapped her arms around herself.

She didn't *need* anything.

She had survived on her own this long.

But she *wanted* something. Or rather--someone.

Someone who saw her, not the version she performed for the world.

And today, for one breathtaking moment, *he* had.

---

**Chapter Four: Office Hours**

Monday came too slowly.

Daniel told himself it was just another meeting. Just a student offering her time. Nothing unusual, nothing inappropriate.

But he'd spent the whole weekend thinking about the way her lips had shaped his name. The way she hadn't blinked when he tried to put distance between them.

And now--3:02 p.m.--he heard a soft knock.

He swallowed hard and stood.

"Come in," he called, his voice a little too steady.

The door creaked open, and there she was.

Eva.

Hair tucked loosely behind her ears, a pale blue blouse tucked into dark jeans, simple gold hoops in her ears. No makeup, or almost none. She didn't need it. She was the kind of beautiful that made you forget what you were about to say.

"Hi," she said softly. "Sorry, am I late?"

"No." He stepped aside. "Right on time. Come in."

She walked past him, her perfume barely there--citrus and something floral. She didn't glance around the room like most students. She went straight to the desk, folded her arms in front of her.

"So," she said. "What do you need help with?"

God help him.

Everything.

"I thought we'd start simple," he said, moving to the cabinet. "I've got some older scanned articles I'd like sorted by theme and date. Some handwritten notes from Oxford I've never properly archived. I'll give you full access to the folder on the shared drive."

She took the USB drive he handed her. Their fingers didn't touch this time, but the moment still stretched between them.

"Sounds good," she said, sitting at the small table in the corner. "Organizing is... kind of my thing."

"I'll be at my desk," he said. "Let me know if anything's unclear."

For the first fifteen minutes, the only sounds were keystrokes and the occasional shuffle of papers. Daniel tried to focus. Tried to pretend this was no different than any other faculty-student interaction.

It wasn't.

Not even close.

He kept glancing at her without meaning to. The way she bit her lip while reading. The way she crossed and uncrossed her legs, unaware--or maybe *very* aware--of the effect it had on him.

"Professor Langston?"

Her voice made him look up instantly. "Yes?"

She tilted her head. "Why did you pick me?"

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"For the assistant spot. You could've picked anyone."

He hesitated.

"You volunteered first."

Her eyes narrowed, a smile playing at her lips. "That's all?"

Daniel stood slowly, pushing away from his desk, needing distance but somehow moving *closer*.

"You're sharp," he said. "Focused. Mature. I assumed you could handle discretion."

"Discretion," she repeated. "Interesting word."

"It's an important one."

She leaned back in her chair, studying him. "You're very careful with your words."

"I have to be."

"Because of me?"

Daniel's jaw tensed. He looked away. "Because of *everything*."

For a moment, silence wrapped around them like smoke.

Then she said, "You looked at me in class like you already knew me."

"I didn't."

"But you felt something."

His eyes locked on hers. She was playing with fire now, and she *knew* it.

"I don't entertain that kind of conversation with students," he said softly.

"That's not a no."

He stared at her. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"You should finish the file," he said. "It's getting late."

But she didn't move. She just smiled--a quiet, knowing smile.

"I'll see you next Monday, Professor Langston."

And just like that, she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And Daniel exhaled--slow, shaking, as though he'd been holding his breath the entire time.

He was in so much trouble.

---

**Chapter Five: The Look**

The sun had finally come out, and the small campus café was buzzing with life. Students lounged under faded umbrellas, laughing over iced lattes, textbooks open more for decoration than actual use.

Eva sat between Callie and Nina at their usual outdoor table, idly stirring her drink. She hadn't said much all morning.

"I swear," Callie was saying, "if Professor Langston reads one more passage from *Lady Chatterley's Lover* in that voice, I'm going to faint."

Nina smirked over her espresso. "I think he *knows* exactly what he's doing. The man could probably make a tax return sound like foreplay."

Eva smiled faintly, but didn't look up from her coffee.

Callie narrowed her eyes. "Okay. Spill. You've been weird for a week."

"I'm always weird," Eva said lightly.

"No," Nina said. "You're always mysterious. This is *different*. You've been... distracted."

Callie nodded. "You flinched when he walked by our row yesterday. *You*. The queen of composure."

"Maybe she's got a crush," Nina said, eyebrows lifting with mock innocence.

"I don't--"

Eva stopped mid-sentence as the café door opened.

Daniel Langston walked in, dressed in black slacks and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled. He carried a leather-bound notebook and ordered something from the counter, not yet seeing them.

Callie and Nina both looked at Eva.

"Tell me you didn't," Nina whispered.

"I didn't do *anything*," Eva hissed.

Her voice was defensive, but her posture betrayed her. A rigidness. A crack in her calm.

Then Callie made a joke about Nina's last failed Tinder date. Something ridiculous involving a magician, cheap wine, and a hamster. It made Eva laugh--unexpected and bright.

Daniel turned.

The sound of her laugh cut through the noise, and his head snapped up instantly.

Their eyes met across the café.

And neither of them looked away.

A stillness settled over the space between them. Her lips parted just slightly. His fingers froze on the coffee cup he'd just picked up.

Nina and Callie looked from him to her and back again.

"Oh my *God*," Nina muttered under her breath.

Callie leaned in, whispering sharply, "Eva."

But Eva didn't hear them.

Until her phone buzzed in her hand.

She looked down.

**Mom:** *Flight cancelled. Your father and I won't be back this week. Maybe next. I'll call soon.*

**Dad:** *So sorry, sweetheart. Things came up. Love you.*

Eva stared at the screen. The words blurred. Her throat clenched.

She blinked hard and shoved the phone into her bag, standing up too fast.

"I--I need to go," she said quickly.

"Eva?" Callie reached out. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice cracked. She turned and walked fast, head down, heart pounding. Not here. Not in front of them.

Daniel watched her go. Every muscle in his body tense.

He shouldn't.

He *couldn't*.

But when she turned the corner out of sight, he was already moving.

He left his coffee behind.

And followed her.

---

**Chapter Six: Just a Bit Longer**

He found her behind the science hall.

She was standing under the awning near the emergency exit, just out of the sunlight, arms wrapped around herself as if the world had turned too loud. Her shoulders were trembling, and she was trying so damn hard to stay composed.

Daniel didn't think.

He just moved.

"Eva," he said softly.

She turned, startled, eyes wide and already glistening.

"Professor--" she started, then quickly looked away, swiping under her eyes with trembling fingers. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

"You're not," he said, voice quiet but firm. "Don't say that."

"I don't want you to see me like this," she whispered, trying to laugh, but it came out shaky and broken. "It's pathetic."

He stepped forward and gently placed his hand on her shoulder, guiding her until her back touched the cool brick wall. Not forceful--just enough to steady her.

"Eva," he murmured again.

Her eyes locked onto his, wide and glassy, and then--

She broke.

With a soft, choked sob, she gripped the front of his shirt and buried her face into his chest. He caught her instantly, arms folding around her like instinct. Her body trembled against his as the tears came, silent at first, then deeper, wrenching.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into him. "I'm sorry--I didn't mean to do this."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice raw now. "Don't."

He held her close, one hand splayed protectively on her back, the other cradling the back of her head. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, where his heart was pounding hard and fast.

"They promised they'd be home," she whispered. "I waited all weekend. I made dinner last night and just... left it on the counter. I knew they wouldn't come. I *knew.* But I still waited. Like some stupid little girl."