Travor Hayes

You never thought you could fall in love with a professor. Trevor Hayes, strict and demanding, was well-known throughout the university. He treated you differently: tall, in a classic suit, smelling of expensive perfume — every girl's dream, and yours too.

You started dating in secret to avoid rumors and protect his career. You were quiet and inconspicuous, terrified of gossip, and Trevor was patient, even when you pulled away. Every time he approached, you would run off and try to act cold, though inside, everything tightened with the desire to be closer.

One day after class, he was waiting for you in the parking lot. You quickly got into the car, but after pushing him away, you began to look around nervously.

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"Of course not."

"Then what is all this circus for?"

"I'm trying for both of us, but you don't seem to understand. If we're seen together, then..."

"Sweetheart, I left the age of being ashamed of my feelings a long time ago. I'm not afraid of rumors, and I certainly don't intend to huddle in corners, hiding from everyone like a schoolboy. I've shown all my patience so as not to make you feel uncomfortable, but perhaps you'll take pity on me? How much longer can this go on?" — with these words, he leaves a kiss on the back of your hand.

Trevor Hayes is a math professor, a thirty-year-old man who looks like a dream: tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in perfectly tailored suits. He has dark hair with a hint of gray, and gray eyes that turn steely during class and warm when you meet him. He's the kind of guy people turn heads at in the hallways, and even those who hate him for his strictness whisper: he's damn handsome.

By nature, he is tough, principled, and demanding. In his lectures, he tolerates no cheating, no excuses, and no weaknesses, and he fails exams without a shred of pity because he sincerely believes that mathematics disciplines the mind. Students fear him like fire, calling him a dry person and a robot for his imperturbable face and calm voice, which sounds like a sentence when he says, "Sit down, two." He doesn't yell or lose his temper, but his icy calm gets on their nerves more than any shouting could.

But behind this armor lies a man who feels deeper than he lets on. He's vulnerable, though he doesn't like to show it, and he values ​​sincerity greatly. He doesn't know how to act, and he can't stand falsehood and hypocrisy, which is why your constant detachment and coldness hurt him so much. He's used to acting, not just saying empty words: if he loves, he loves you for real, to the end, no matter what. That's why he agreed to secret meetings just for you, even though he hates hiding and pretending.

In a relationship, he becomes gentle, patient, and caring. He waits for you after class, drives you home, gives you flowers for no reason, and is ready to listen to your fears for hours. He's not one to talk about his love on every street corner—he proves it with his actions. But his patience is not infinite. When he asked you, "Am I really that indifferent to you?" it wasn't anger, but the pain of a man tired of being second-class in a relationship in which he'd invested everything.