Page 10 of Hannah.

Seeing him again after these two years triggers many forgotten feelings within me. He's both familiar and different,a connection to my past and a touchstone here at Cambridge. His presence intensifies my eagerness to unravel the secrets of the Cabinet of Curiosities, and I can't help but feel a surge of excitement for the adventure that lies ahead of me.

“So, let’s start by the beginning. Does anyone know what heritage means?” he asks, walking towards the board. There, he takes one of the pens and writes the wordHeritageon it before his attention returns to the silent students. He paces in our direction and scans attentively through the crowd, waiting for a volunteer to speak up. Suddenly, though, Johan freezes his pacing at the front of the lecture hall andlooksat me, shock written all over his features.

Oh, there it is. That sweet recognition. Between one breath and the next, I’m transported back to my brother’s wedding, trapped between Johan and Oma’s desk, feeling the thundering of his heart in his chest against me.

I’ve caught him off guard, but not for long. As quickly as he pauses, Johan snaps himself out of his stupor, and his eyes fall away from his mind. “I see everyone is eager to speak.” Laugher cracks around the hall, easing the tension among the crowd. And just like that, he turns his back on us, striding back to the board.

Okay…? That was weird. He didn’t acknowledge me at all. He's been ignoring me all week, yet here he is, teaching our class. Confusion swirls inside me. Why this sudden distance?

“Heritage is our legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations.” His voice is loud enough to pull me back from my thoughts, and I start typing his words on my laptop.

At first, I have trouble paying attention, but even if Johan leads the class, I can’t afford to zone out, so I force myself to stay focused on the lecture.

“Does anyone know why we study it?”

After throwing this question in the air, my hand shoots up almost involuntarily, a mixture of eagerness to participate and the hope to catch his attention. Our eyes meet amidst the sea of faces, and I sense his surprise. But he still pretends not to know me, his demeanor distant, like we're strangers. I answer his question, my voice surprisingly steady despite my internal turmoil.

“It connects people to their roots and fosters a sense of belonging.”

“Excellent, Miss. Thank you.” His words are polite but lacking warmth. The class moves on, but I’m left even more confused than before. Why is he keeping me at arm's length? I steal glances at him, searching for some hint in his expression, but his face remains unreadable.

A pang of hurt settles in my chest, overshadowing my excitement from earlier. I continue to try to focus on the lesson, but my thoughts are consumed by the puzzle of Johan's behavior. It’s like he’s deliberately hiding our connection, leaving me with a jumble of unanswered questions. What has changed between us? Why is he pushing me away? I can't help but wonder as I navigate the rest of the class, trying to make sense of this unexpected distance.

The final bell rings, signaling the end of the class, but my feet remain glued to the floor. Maybe if I wait until fewer people are in the classroom, Johan will give me the time of day. I toy with my pen, pretending to sort my notes, hoping to catch his eye. Seconds tick by like hours, but just when I turn to say something, he strides out, his steps purposeful, without a single glance in my direction. My heart drops. He’s so indifferent towards me…it hurts. More than I would have expected.

Why?

The question lingers, unanswered and heavy, settling in the pit of my stomach. I can't wrap my head around his behavior. Asthe room empties, I stand there, trying to decipher the enigma of Johan Bentinck. The urge to confront him pulses through my veins, but the invisible boundaries of student and teacher hold me back. He's my substitute, after all, at least until my main professor will return from sick leave within the next week or so.

I guess it could be just that simple. He’s avoiding me as long as he’s in the professor role. Maybe there’s some rule that professors can’t hang around students because it isn’t professional. But he could have easily told me that, so I’m unsure if it’s that simple.

The temptation to text him flits through my mind, but I resist. Protocol, respect, and maybe some fear keep my fingers from typing the questions burning within me. Does some unspoken rule forbid professors from reaching out to students except under specific circumstances, or is Johan just that reluctant to talk to me after two years?

The first reason is something I can live with, but the second makes me sad.

The minutes stretch until all the other students disperse and I find myself alone, wrestling with my thoughts. I pack my bag slowly, trying to make sense of Johan's mysterious distance. I don’t want to dwell on it, though. I’m almost done with my schedule today, but Johan ignoring me threatens to cast a dark cloud over my second week at Cambridge.

I refuse to let that happen. With a deep breath, I grab my things and exit the lecture hall. I’ll have to figure out things with him later.

With a few hours to spare before my last class of the day, I follow the address on the flyer to check out the Cabinet of Curiosities.It’s open all day today, and I don’t want to sit around with an idle mind—not when there are odd objects to investigate.

Investigate only,I tell myself.Nothing else. No touching. No taking.

It’s another cool day, but it’s so pleasant on the campus that I don’t feel any need to get transportation. A brisk ten-minute walk gets me to the exhibition, and the hall buzzes with life. It looks like the little stunt with the flyers has paid off.

Immediately I’m sucked into the artwork. Wow. These are all the sorts of things that I’ve been fascinated with since I was a kid. Oddities from ages long past adorn every corner, sparking a familiar, wild curiosity within me. It’s not a huge exhibit, but I still don’t know where exactly to start. My eyes flit from a tarnished Victorian necklace to a weathered diary, each holding a secret history I’m dying to uncover.

Amidst the crowd, a group huddles around a set of small pieces in a cabinet, their fingers tracing the lines of ancient relics. For a second, I’m angry that they’re touching these things, but the complaint fades quickly enough—probably because I know that I want to touch them, too.

Seeing them handling the palm-sized relics is almost too much. One girl holds up a preserved butterfly behind glass, the shimmering sapphire blue of it making my heart ache to own it.

Shit. I need to get out of here, or I will do something I regret.

I turn away, closing my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. When the group starts to drift away, I can’t stop myself any longer and wander over with my hands shoved into the pockets of my cardigan. There's a pull, an irresistible urge, and my fingers deftly open a jewelry box, revealing a small bracelet. Its delicate, beautiful chains tarnished by time and holding a small curio charm. I’m almost imperceptible as I slip it into my pocket, feeling a rush unlike anything else as I clutch it in my fist. I leavethe box where I found it, hoping my quick act goes unnoticed in the sea of eager gazes.

So many people are checking all the same objects out that there’s no way anyone will suspect me. Picking down a thief in an unregulated place like this would be impossible.

It’s their fault, really, for leaving such precious things out where anyone can pick them up.