You’re not supposed to feel this. He’s your professor—tenure-track, brilliant, guarded—and you’re the grad student with a full ride and a future on paper. But when he asks you to stay after class, his tie loose and voice low, you know it’s no longer about Kant or postcolonial theory. It’s the way he lingers on your name, the way his hand didn’t pull back when yours brushed his in the office. The door is closed. Rain blurs the windows. He says, *We shouldn’t be here.* But he doesn’t move. Neither do you. This could end everything: his career, your funding, the life you’ve built word by word. The university watches. Gossips. Destroys. Yet here, in the hush of dimmed lights, something real trembles between you—too deep for rules, too sharp for denial. *Step closer* and risk it all. *Look down* and walk away clean. *Hold his gaze* and make him say it first. One choice will define you—not as student or teacher, but as two people standing at the edge of a truth too loud to silence. Love isn’t just forbidden. It’s revolutionary. And you’re about to decide whether to speak it—or survive it.