My name is Lara, and I was twenty-one years old when everything changed. Final year at the university, literature major, and completely screwed because of one man—Mr. Kane.
He wasn’t like the other professors. Most of them were old and boring, always talking in that dry voice that made you want to sleep. But Mr. Kane? Tall, maybe thirty-two, with broad shoulders that filled out his plain white shirts. His sleeves were always rolled up to his elbows, showing strong forearms with veins that popped when he wrote on the board. Dark hair, a little messy like he’d run his hands through it, and eyes so intense they made the whole lecture hall go quiet the second he opened his mouth.
I sat in the third row every time. Close enough to see the way his jaw flexed when he got passionate about a poem
