[MF] – The Student Who Teased Me for Three Years: Part 2 – “You Heard That, Didn’t You?”

Year two. She wasn't in my class anymore. And yet… I saw her everywhere.

Alexandra had disappeared from my course list but not from my daily life. Same faculty, same hallways, same damn campus cafés. And every time I crossed paths with her, it was like she'd been waiting for it.

"Hey, Professor!"

Always bright. Always loud enough for others to hear. Always with that extra sparkle in her eye.

I'd nod back, mutter a polite reply, try to keep walking. But the way she looked at me — the subtle smile, the flicker of something in her eyes — it made me wonder. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe not.

The Cafeteria

It happened around mid-semester. I was sitting in the cafeteria with a couple of colleagues, eating the same bland food, half-listening to a conversation about some upcoming conference.

Then I heard a chair scrape behind me, and the unmistakable sound of her voice, just low enough to sound private — and just loud enough to reach me.

"I think I gave him head. Like… I don't even know why."

A pause. Then her friend:

"Wait, what? When?"

"That night after the club. In his car. I mean… we barely talked."

Nervous laughter.

"God, Alex…"

"I don't know. He was cute, and I was just… drunk and kinda wanted to feel something. It's not like I'm trying to be that girl…"

"But you are that girl."

"Shut up," Alexandra whispered, but she laughed too — soft, embarrassed. "It just… felt good, I guess. Like… being wanted."

Silence. The clatter of cutlery. Then more whispering I couldn't quite catch.

But I didn't need to. My mind was already filling in every blank.

I hadn't even turned around, but my body reacted anyway — pulse quickening, jaw tight, hands motionless over my tray. I couldn't focus on a word my colleagues were saying. Her voice had taken over everything.

Not bold. Not bragging. Just real. Vulnerable, even. And somehow… even worse for me.

I excused myself early that day. Said I had papers to grade. Lied, obviously

The Gossip

A couple of weeks later, the semester was officially over. I ended up at a crowded bar downtown — the kind of place you only go to when you're too tired to care about the music.

I wasn't planning to run into anyone I knew. But near the back, in a booth overflowing with empty glasses and noise, I recognized a few students from one of my larger lectures — a group of third-years, half-drunk and deep in some story.

One of them noticed me as I walked by.

"Oh shit, Professor! Didn't think you went out!"

I smiled. "Once in a while."

"Come on, you can't just wave and disappear. Sit down!"

I didn't plan to, but I did. Maybe it was the heat, the drink in my hand, or the lingering buzz of freedom that comes right after final grades are submitted.

We chatted for a few minutes. Light talk. Music, internships, complaints about the grading system.

And then — without even meaning to — I asked:

"Alright. Be honest. What's the juiciest thing that happened this year? Give me the real gossip. The kind you don't put in course evaluations."

They laughed. Looked at each other. A couple exchanged knowing glances.

"Oh, I mean… I don't know if we should say…"

"Yeah, that's kind of… not really academic."

"Come on," I said, half-joking. "I'm off duty. And you're all graduating."

A short silence.

Then someone leaned in and said, more quietly:

"There's been a rumor going around since the faculty party. About a girl… giving blowjobs. In the bathroom."

More glances. Shrugs.

"Supposedly for money."

"Yeah, like five bucks. Some kind of dare? I don't even know."

"Could've been a joke. Or just a drunk mess. But people say it was Alexandra."

My face didn't change.

"Which Alexandra?"

"Come on, you know. Small, blonde, always sits like she owns the place."

I gave a vague nod. "Don't think I had her this year."

They all laughed and moved on to something else. Someone ordered shots. Someone spilled theirs. The gossip dissolved back into the background noise.

But I stayed stuck.

That name. That image. That whisper.

And I knew — without needing confirmation — that I'd be seeing her again.

Then came the list

The following week, I received the list of students registered for my final-year seminar.

And there it was.

Alexandra — enrolled. Monday mornings.

I stared at her name for a long time. It looked harmless on screen.

But all I could see was her face. Her voice. Her silhouette behind a classroom desk. Her smile behind a closed door.