Chapter 109

The campus was buzzing with morning energy—students clustered on benches, hurrying with coffee cups, or scrolling through their phones as they made their way to class. Abigail adjusted the strap of her bag and took a deep breath. Columbia. Day one.

She found the right building, the hallways filled with chatter and the faint smell of old books and pencil shavings. Her sneakers squeaked softly against the floor as she approached the door with “MUSC 101 – Music Theory I” printed neatly on the plaque.

When Abigail stepped into the room, the faint hum of chatter seemed to dip for a moment. She felt it immediately—eyes turning to size up the new faces, the quiet curiosity of classmates meeting one another for the first time.

But it wasn’t the students that held her attention.

It was Ms. Shields.

The professor’s gaze lifted from her notes, her eyes finding Abigail almost instantly. And for a brief second, it wasn’t just the polite acknowledgment of a teacher spotting a new student—it lingered. Ms. Shields’ sharp eyes traveled over her frame, a subtle but unmistakable look that felt like she was checking her out.

Abigail felt the prickle of awareness run down her neck. She didn’t let it show, though. She kept her face neutral, gave a small nod, and walked steadily to an open seat near the middle of the classroom. But inside, she clocked it. She’d noticed.

Once the shuffle of notebooks and bags quieted, Ms. Shields stepped closer to the piano, folding her hands together with a smile that seemed just a little too smooth.

“Good morning, everyone,” Ms. Shields said, her voice warm and clear, carrying easily across the room. “Welcome to Music Theory I. I hope you came ready to think, to listen, and to learn. Music is a language, and by the end of this semester, I want you speaking it fluently.”

“Let’s start by getting to know each other,” she said. “Name and your favorite instrument, whether you play it or not. Music theory isn’t just about notes and rules—it’s about what connects you to sound. Who’d like to go first?”

One by one, students offered up introductions—nervous laughter, a few jokes about playing “air guitar,” mentions of pianos, drums, violins. Abigail listened, pen tapping lightly against her notebook, waiting for her turn.

When it came, she sat up straighter, her voice clear but casual. “I’m Abigail. And my favorite instrument is the guitar.”

Ms. Shields’ eyes found hers again, and that smile tugged at the corner of her mouth like she was filing the answer away for later. “The guitar,” she echoed softly, almost to herself. “Classic. Thank you, Abigail.”

Abigail nodded, leaning back in her chair, trying not to think too much of the professor’s tone as the introductions continued around the room.

The introductions wrapped up, and Ms. Shields moved seamlessly into the first notes of the lecture. She spoke with an easy confidence, hands brushing across the keys of the piano as she demonstrated scales and chord progressions, her voice smooth as she explained how theory wasn’t just math—it was storytelling.

Abigail tried to focus, jotting down the bits that stood out most, but it was impossible not to notice the way Ms. Shields’ gaze kept drifting back to her. Not once, not twice—but over and over again. Every time Abigail glanced up from her notebook, she found those sharp eyes waiting, holding her just a little too long before moving on to another student.

By the third time, Abigail exhaled slowly and pulled out her phone, sliding it beneath her desk like she was just checking the time. Her thumbs moved quick.

Abigail: I think my professor is checking me out…

The reply came almost immediately, as if Emma had been waiting with the phone in her hand.

Emma: 😳 Oh really now?

Another vibration followed a second later.

Emma: As long as she doesn’t touch, she doesn’t have a chance. You’re mine.

Abigail smirked down at her screen, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself. She typed back quickly.

Abigail: Promise, baby. You’re the only one I want checking me out.

Abigail slipped her phone back onto her desk, Emma’s words still glowing in her chest like armor. She straightened, lifted her chin, and let her eyes drift back to the front of the room.

And there it was—Ms. Shields watching her again.

Only this time, Abigail didn’t shy away. She held the gaze, steady and unflinching, her lips curving into a slow, deliberate smirk that made the moment feel like a challenge.

The air between them seemed to thrum. Ms. Shields’ eyes flickered, and for the first time that morning, the professor faltered.

“So—uh,” she began, tapping the chalk against the board harder than she needed to, “so in this class we’ll, um, we’ll be… breaking down…” Her words trailed, her throat clearing awkwardly as she scrambled to refocus on the lesson. “Breaking down the fundamentals of tonal harmony.”

The tiniest stammer slipped in, barely there but enough to make Abigail’s smirk sharpen. She leaned back in her chair, utterly casual now, scribbling something in her notebook like she hadn’t just gotten under the professor’s skin.

Gotcha, she thought with a flash of smug satisfaction.

Ms. Shields pressed on with her lecture, but her voice was a little tighter, her pacing just a little less smooth. Abigail only half-listened, that small victorious spark lingering like a secret between them.