Chapter 138

The drive to campus was calm, the sky painted in soft streaks of gold and rose. Abigail had her smoothie tucked in the cup holder and the radio playing low, her thoughts wandering between chords for a new song and the memory of Emma’s sleepy smile that morning.

Traffic was light, and by the time she turned into the campus lot, students were already filing in from every direction—coffee cups in hand, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Abigail parked in her usual spot near the music building and grabbed her guitar case along with her backpack before locking up. The crisp air hit her skin as she stepped out, the faint hum of chatter echoing across the quad.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket and hit call, smiling when Emma answered on the second ring.

“Hey, baby,” Emma’s voice came through, warm and familiar. “You make it there okay?”

Abigail smiled as she adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking toward the building. “Yeah, just pulled in a few minutes ago. I’m heading to class now.”

“Good,” Emma said softly. “How’s the campus this morning?”

“Peaceful,” Abigail said. “It’s one of those days where everything feels calm. The kind of morning that makes you want to sit outside and play guitar instead of going to class.”

Emma chuckled. “You’d better not skip. Especially with you-know-who teaching that class today.”

Abigail smirked. “Trust me, I’m not giving her any reason to talk to me. I’m just going to sit in the back, take notes, and get out.”

“That’s my girl,” Emma said, her tone teasing but proud.

Abigail smiled to herself as she climbed the short set of stairs to the music hall. The closer she got to the door, the more she could hear other students talking and tuning their instruments. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, still balancing the phone against her ear.

Inside, the classroom smelled faintly of coffee and sheet music. A few students were already seated, unpacking notebooks and chatting quietly. Professor Shields stood near the front of the room, straightening her papers and adjusting the projector.

As soon as Abigail stepped through the door, Shields looked up. For a split second, their eyes met. Then, just as quickly, the professor looked away, her jaw tightening, her attention snapping back to the desk like nothing had happened.

Abigail caught the movement, but she didn’t react. She walked calmly down the aisle and took a seat near the back, setting her guitar case beside her chair. Her heart stayed steady, her focus only half on the woman at the front of the room.

Emma’s voice brought her back. “You there, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Abigail said softly, pulling her notebook out. “Just got to class. She’s already setting up.”

Emma’s tone softened. “Alright. I’ll let you go. Just remember what you said—call me after, okay?”

“Of course,” Abigail said, smiling faintly. She didn’t care if anyone heard. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Emma replied instantly.

A few students nearby glanced up at the sound, but Abigail didn’t mind. Professor Shields’ jaw visibly clenched at the front of the room, though she said nothing. She simply turned to the whiteboard and began writing the day’s topic in neat, deliberate strokes: Chord Progressions and Harmonic Structure in Modern Music.

Abigail tucked her phone away, her expression calm as ever. She pulled her pencil from her bag and opened her notebook, ready to focus.

The clock struck nine.

Professor Shields cleared her throat, her voice cool and professional. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s begin. Today, we’ll be focusing on how emotion translates through chord structure. Music theory isn’t just about formulas—it’s about how tension and resolution make us feel something.”

The rustle of paper and the quiet click of pens filled the room as she continued. “We’ll look at how composers build emotional movement through minor sevenths, suspended chords, and deceptive cadences. Some of the most powerful progressions come from how a musician chooses to resolve—or not resolve—a phrase.”

Abigail stayed focused, jotting down notes as Professor Shields played a few examples through the speakers. Each chord progression echoed softly through the room, from classical motifs to the haunting resolve of a jazz tune.

“Now,” Professor Shields said, glancing at the class, “can anyone tell me why a suspended fourth chord creates emotional tension instead of immediate resolution?”

The room went silent. Pens stopped moving. Students looked at each other, then back at their notes.

Abigail hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised her hand.

“Yes, Abigail?”

Abigail met her eyes, her tone calm and confident. “Because the suspended note delays the expected resolution back to the third, which keeps the listener anticipating that release. It builds emotion without giving full closure right away.”

A flicker of surprise passed over Shields’ face before she nodded, her voice softer. “That’s correct. Excellent explanation.”

A few students turned in their seats, murmuring to each other in quiet agreement. Abigail just gave a polite nod and went back to writing, her focus steady.

Professor Shields continued the lecture, demonstrating more examples and breaking down harmonic structures on the projector. Abigail followed along easily, tapping her pencil against the edge of her notebook as the conversation flowed back into theory and composition.

When class finally came to an end, the clock read ten fifteen. Students began packing up, chatting about the next assignment. Abigail slipped her notebook into her bag, her movements calm and deliberate.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder, she pulled out her phone and called Emma. The line picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, baby,” Emma said softly. “You out of class?”

“Yeah,” Abigail said, her tone easy. “Headed out now.”

Before she could make it to the door, she heard her name.

“Abigail,” Professor Shields called, her voice quieter now that most of the class had filed out.

Abigail froze for a brief second but turned, keeping her tone even. “Yes, Professor?”

Shields’ expression was tense, her posture a little too stiff. She waited until the last of the students left before stepping closer, lowering her voice. “Good job today. Your answer earlier was spot on. You clearly have a strong grasp of the material.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said politely, shifting the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

Shields hesitated, glancing toward the door as if to make sure no one else was still around. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of a folder on her desk before she finally spoke again. “About Friday night…” Her tone softened, more hesitant than Abigail had ever heard from her. “I need to apologize. What I did was completely out of line. I crossed a boundary that should’ve never been touched.”

Abigail’s face stayed unreadable. Her heartbeat was calm, her voice steady when she replied. “You did,” she said simply. “You put me in a position I shouldn’t have been in.”

Professor Shields swallowed, guilt flickering across her features. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m not proud of what happened, and I don’t want it to affect your time in this class.”

Abigail met her gaze evenly. “It won’t,” she said. “I’m here to learn, and that’s all this is going to be from now on.”

There was a moment of silence between them, the kind that carried all the weight of what didn’t need to be said. Shields nodded faintly, looking down at her hands. “That’s fair,” she murmured. “And again, I’m sorry.”

Through the phone, Emma’s voice came quietly but firm. “Just leave, baby. You don’t owe her anything.”

Abigail gave a small nod, more to herself than to the professor. “I should get going,” she said.

“Of course,” Shields said quickly, stepping back. “Have a good rest of your day, Abigail.”

“You too,” Abigail said before turning and walking out.

The morning air hit her face the moment she stepped outside, cool and clean. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension slide from her shoulders as she crossed the quad.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked softly through the phone.

Abigail smiled faintly. “Yeah, baby. It’s handled.”