Cassandra
.
.
I appeared by his office door ten minutes earlier, my facial expression calm if I hadn’t been counting the hours since yesterday.
The low classical music—one that made me feel like I was in the 1900s leaked through the cracks of the door.
I swallowed. A knock and I opened the door, after I heard him mutter as “Come in.”
Just like yesterday, he was sitting behind his desk, a pair of glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled something down on the paper. The sleeves of his black shirt again expose his veins on his forearms. A side of his collar was bent, ruining the sign of perfection. But that only made my heart skip.
Prof Malcom swung his gaze to me. “You’re early.” he gestured for me to take a seat.
I managed a steady smile, clutching my book to my chest as I settl
