Lillian's POV:
The morning air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant car fumes. The sky is a pale shade of blue, the kind that lingers before the sun fully asserts itself. A thin mist clings to the ground, swirling slightly as I walk. The rain last night, makes the pavement slick, puddles reflecting the towering structures of my university.
It's massive, a city of its own. Wide roads stretch endlessly, the campus gates stand tall, guarded, always bustling with students trickling in, some on foot, others on bikes or in cars. The sheer size of the place is overwhelming—multiple faculties, towering lecture halls, endless stretches of buildings, some new and polished, others bei worn down by time and countless footsteps.
Even this early, the campus is alive. Vendors set up their stalls along the pathways, selling steaming snacks, and cups of hot tea to students who rush past, balancing heavy backpacks and sleep-filled eyes. The air hums with murmured conversations, the shuffle of feet and the occasional burst of laughter from a group of friends huddled near the faculty gates.
A row of yellow-painted buses, the school shuttles, honks impatiently as students climb in, the drivers shouting their destinations. The main road leading to the faculty buildings is a chaotic blend of students crossing, bikers weaving through, and cars honking in frustration.
Beyond the bustle, the university holds its own quiet corners—shaded walkways lined with old trees, empty corridors still echoing last night's footsteps, rooftop spaces where some students sit, watching the world below.
I step onto the main path, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. The reality of being here still feels unreal sometimes. Getting into this university wasn't easy. It took years, heartbreak, and a best friend who refused to give up on me, until I made it in.
And now, as I walk through this sprawling place—this institution that once felt impossible to reach—I remind myself that this is where i belong regardless.
---
My school is a huge—well-known because it's a federal institution. Admission is tough unless you have strong connections. After high school, I waited four years before getting in. Not because I don't try, but because I keep getting rejected. Sure, I could apply to other state universities, but they're expensive, and even then, connections matter. The distance is another issue.
But this is the closest university. The one I want.
Every year, I always get rejected. I cry, watching my high school classmates move on while I stay stuck.
It's always just me and my mom. We kept our distance from others, even family. I once ask her why, but like always, she brushes off the question.
The second rejection hits me the hardest. The weight of loneliness, the pressure of falling behind, my first breakup—it was too much that I almost fall into depression. At one point, a wild, desperate thought crosses my mind, What if I mistakenly fall in love with my cousin? That would make things even worse. But Mom does not say much. She only reassures me like she always does.
By the third rejection, I gave up. Maybe university just isn't meant for me. It's not like I have bad grades—my high school results are good enough. Still, it never seems to be enough.
Then, Talia has an idea. My best friend since middle school, she's already in university. Her family is middle-class, but they have connections—especially her older brother, who helps her secure admission. She barely spends a year at home before she's off to school. Money isn't an issue for her, though she still hustles to have her own.
"It belongs to my family," she once says about her wealth. "not mine."
Even without me asking, she tried to get her brother to help with my admission too. But every time, the answer was always the same. He was only helped because Talia's his blood sibling.
That's when she comes up with another plan.
Instead of just helping my mom at her restaurant—which isn't a big business but is enough to sustain us—she suggests I start working and saving money. Not just for myself, but for Mom too. She's getting older, falling sick more often. If I can earn enough, she can finally take care of her health instead of worrying about me. And it worked.
I took on multiple jobs, working at different convenience stores, barely having time to breathe. But I kept pushing forward. Talia promised she won't give up on my admission. that she has made connections with few professors—ones who are kind to her, ones she befriends. She believed they could help, and with enough money involved, things might finally change.
She made me believe in hope again, and within a year, I saved a lot. I was exhausted but determined.
And then—Talia made it happen. I got in.
I quit some of the most grueling jobs, but I kept working while studying. My new goal was clearly to move out and become independent, pay Mom's bills, and making sure she stops working for good.
When I started my first year, Talia was already in her final one. She always comes to my department, keeps me company, makes sure I feel like I belong. But after she graduated, everything changed.
Once again, I was alone. Secluded.
University becomes a cycle of school and work, with barely any time for myself—let alone for love. Real love. Something I still haven't found.
Though I was able to save enough money to move out. which I'm currently living on my own now.
---
Among all the overwhelming things about this university—the sprawling campus, the crowds, the endless struggle to balance work and school—there's one thing, or rather, one person, who made my life even harder.
Professor Lee.
The moment I stepped into the lecture hall, I felt the weight of his stare.
Professor Lee stands at the front, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the room like he's searching for his next victim. He's tall and lean, always dressed in neatly pressed shirts that matches his rigid personality. His glasses sit low on his nose, and when he looks at me, it's with something between disdain and quiet amusement.
I never knew what I ever did to him, but from the very first day, he's made it clear that I am not one of his favorite students.
His reputation is terrifying. The man has no patience, no tolerance for mediocrity, and absolutely no warmth.
"Look around you," he says on the first day of class, his voice cutting through the noisy hall like a blade. "Half of you will not pass my course. If you're here to play, you can leave now." A heavy silence follows. No one dares to breathe too loudly.
At first, I thought he was just strict, but as the semester goes on, I started to notice the pattern. It was me mostly. Whenever I asked a question, his responses were always sharp, almost mocking, like I'm wasting his time. When I give a correct answer, he barely acknowledges it, but when others do—even when they're wrong—he nods and corrects them gently.
At first, I tried to ignore it. Maybe I'm imagining things. or perhaps just being paranoid. But then, my first test results came back. I know I did well. I studied harder for this course than anything else. Yet when I checked my score, it's far lower than expected. Others, who barely studied, somehow scored higher.
That's when I realize—this isn't just strictness. This is personal. But why?
I never offended him. Never disrespected him. Nor gave him a reason to single me out.
Still, every semester, it's the same thing. My assignments are picked apart more harshly than anyone else's. My class contributions are met with indifference or outright dismissal. My grades—are always suspiciously lower than they should be.
Then comes the final exam of my 3rd year.
This time, I leave nothing to chance. I poured everything into my studies, making sure my continuous assessment scores were so high that failing me would raise suspicion. If he gives me an F, people would notice.
And he almost did it regardless.
But because my CA scores were solid—because there's proof I did well, he couldn't fail me completely. So instead, he did the next best thing. Giving me an E.
An E. In a course I excelled in.
That single grade shattered my GPA, dragging it down semester after semester. My dream was to graduate with distinction, to secure a great job without struggling, to prove that my years of waiting for admission weren't in vain.
But because of him, I barely scrape by with an upper class.
And to this day, I still haven't figured out why he hated me so much.
––
Just as I'm lost in thought, drowning in the unfairness of it all, a sharp voice snaps me back to reality.
"Don't allow me to reach the hall before you." My whole body stiffens. That voice. I don't even need to turn around to know who it is.
Professor Lee.
I whip my head around, and there he is—already a few steps ahead of me, his long strides taking him closer to the lecture hall.
And my Instinct kicks in, that I run immediately.
My heart pounds as I dash past him, my bag bouncing against my side. no stoping until I reach the hall, panting.
"I made it before him... thank God." I collapse into a seat near the back, catching my breath. The hall is already noisy—students chatting in groups, some taking photos, others filming videos, their voices blending into the usual morning chaos. Someone is applying makeup, casually using her phone camera as a mirror. Hmm.. for what reason? I don't even know. It's not like we're on a runway.
And then, just as I try to steady my racing pulse, she appears.
The big mouth. Chloe.
Everyone knows her for talking too much. She's already here, surrounded by her usual circle, her high-pitched voice carrying over the noise.
I barely have time to prepare myself before she approaches, her heels clicking against the tiled floor.
"Hey, didn't your friend tell you I was coming?" she asks, crossing her arms and locking her eyes onto mine.
I already know where this is going...
"Why didn't you call back if you knew your phone wasn't reachable? Or… was it a fake number you gave me?" Her head tilts slightly, suspicion creeping into her expression.
I press my lips together, keeping quiet.
"Or is there something you're hiding?" she adds, her tone dripping with curiosity, like she's sniffing out a secret.
I barely have time to respond, or defend myself, before the professor enters the hall.
Her eyes flick to him, then back to me. Without another word, she turns and walks back to her seat, her friends following closely behind.
My shoulders relax slightly. "Saved by the devil himself."
But the relief is short-lived.
Professor Lee barely pauses before scanning the room—and then, his gaze lands on me.
"You. Present my assignment."
My heart skips a beat. I already know how this goes. No matter how much effort I put in, he'll find a way to pick it apart. But still, I hold onto the smallest hope— maybe this could work out for me this time as I didn't do it myself. and silently hoping Duvall to be right, his expression last night... he seems bold.
I steady my breath, forcing my face into a neutral expression as I stand. My legs feel heavier than usual, but I make my way toward him, gripping the neatly printed pages in my hand. I made sure it was ready before his class—printed it early this morning and carefully arranged it.
I stretch it out toward him, my fingers barely brushing his as he takes it.
His usual scowl deepens as he flips through the pages. And his eyes narrowing, scanning each line with the sharp precision of a hawk.
Then—he hesitates.
"This..." His voice turns low, almost to himself.
He flips another page like someone that needed to be sure.
"How did you..."
Shock flickers across his face. His brows furrow, and for the first time ever, I see something I never expected from him—hesitation.
His eyes snap up, locking onto me, intense and unreadable. I swallow hard. My pulse quickens under the weight of his stare.
"what.."
Suddenly, my mind drifts, slipping away as his voice fades into the background.
**What if Duvall is wrong? Or worse—he knew exactly what he was doing? And the professor sent him... they planned this whole thing just to watch me fall for it? Maybe I was never supposed to pass this assignment. it was always meant to end in failure—something dramatic, humiliating.
And what if his story isn't even real?**
***