Page 42 of Hannah.
Yet caution is fleeting, easily discarded in the warmth of the alcohol's embrace. I throw it to the wind, typing out a message:I really enjoyed the evening. We should do it more often. X.
I hit send before I can overthink it, feeling excitement and nervousness as I toss my phone aside. With a content sigh, I pull my comforter over me, still clad in my day clothes. Sleep tugs at my senses, the events of the evening replaying in my mind as I mentally erase Astrid and Conrad, leaving just Johan and me. It’s a fantasy I want to hold onto, even if the rational part of me warns of the potential complications ahead. Sleep comes, and I fall into it, the dream of him and I alone still on my mind.
14
Hannah
The morningafter our unexpected rendezvous at Parker’s Tavern is a chaotic blur. I wake up with a throbbing headache, and the realization that I overslept hits me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t even have that much to drink, but it feels like I’ve been out on some bender.
Jumping out of bed, I hastily throw on clean clothes, barely managing to tie my hair into a messy bun. My heart races as I grab my bag, textbooks, and keys, making a mental checklist to avoid forgetting anything. Circling back for a forgotten item will only make it worse.
In my rush, I almost leave without my phone. As I snatch it up, a few notifications catch my eye, but there isn’t any time for that right now. I’ll have to check it once I get to class.
I dash through campus, weaving through a sea of students, the bustling energy around me intensifying my anxiety. Everyone else seems so bright and well put together, and I can’t even say that I’m completely awake yet. Arriving at the lecturehall, I skid to a stop, catching my breath. Okay, I’ve made it, and I’m only a few minutes late. Hopefully, the professor––
Oh no. No, no, no. Only now is it hitting me that this is the class that Johan is substituting for! Of all the damn classes to be late for.
There’s nothing I can do about it, though. It’s not like I can skip, especially after spending the previous evening in his company. Inhaling slowly, I enter with my head down, hoping not to be noticed. The room is already filled with students, and Johan stands at the front, engrossed in his lecture.
As I enter, I can’t help but notice how all eyes turn immediately toward me, amplifying the awkwardness. Haven’t these people ever seen someone arrive late before? Surely, it isn’t that interesting. I avoid Johan’s gaze, opting for an inconspicuous spot near the back. Everyone seems so quiet, though.
“Good of you to join us. We’ve already started,” he waves towards the whiteboard where he’s been writing for the class, adding, “as you can see.”
I offer a sheepish smile but only meet his eye for the shortest time possible. I’m desperate to be out of the limelight. Settling on a seat, I attempt to immerse myself in the class material, but Johan’s presence makes concentration elusive. The lingering effects of last night’s alcohol and the way our time together had felt so intimate, even in the crowd, add a surreal layer to the situation. He seems like such a different person when teaching, but I guess that’s intentional. But still…there is this affection towards him that I can’t shake. I wonder if he is feeling the same.
The class drones on, minutes stretching into an eternity. My thoughts waver between embarrassment and a strange giddiness. The dynamics between us have shifted, and navigating this new territory feels like tiptoeing through aminefield. Like last night we’re in a room full of people, but all I see is him.
Johan tells us to take out our textbooks, and as I fumble to get it out of my backpack, I spot my phone, remembering the notifications. As discreetly as possible, I open my messages and almost perish when I see what awaits me.
There are two of them–one from Johan and one from Conrad. My heart leaps seeing Johan’s and remembering the overly brave, brief text I had sent him the night before, but when I open it, my heart hits the floor instead.
Johan’s message is brief and businesslike:Where are you? It’s time for class.
There are no messages from me before that, at least not recently, which means…
Feeling a ball of panic forming in my chest, I open the other message. Compared to Johan’s brusque message, Conrad’s is surprisingly warm but wholly unwelcome:
I agree. It was lovely. Thank you, Hannah, and see you soon. X.
Above it, of course, is the playful message I meant for Johan. How in the heck did I manage to mess this up!? I guess I was more intoxicated than I thought, but that doesn’t take away any of the burning embarrassment I’m dealing with right now. Embarrassment and dread. Poor Conrad. The sentiment alone wouldn’t be problematic, but my stomach twists into knots as I think about how much this will encourage his unwanted romantic advances. I like his friendship, but I’d have to be blind not to notice that he wants more.
Ugh! I can’t believe this is happening. How could I have mixed up their names? I cringe at the thought, desperately wanting to undo my foolish mistake. In an attempt to save face, I quickly shoot off a reply to Conrad, keeping it as neutral as possible, my fingers fumbling over the phone:See you soon.
I try to let it go, open my book to follow along with the lecture, and put my phone back in my bag so it’s out of sight and out of mind. Johan’s words are a distant hum in the background, but no matter how hard I try to concentrate, the weight of my mortification overshadows me.
Despite my internal chaos, Johan manages to infuse the class with humor and bring me back to the present. His questions are well-timed quips, drawing genuine laughter from the students. He effortlessly weaves wit into the subject matter, turning what could be a mundane lecture into an engaging experience.
He asks a few questions during the lecture, and I see him glance in my direction a few times as if he wants me to answer. But my brain is running behind because of everything else, and it isn’t until near the end of the class that I manage to raise my hand, confident of my answer.
Johan then asks the room, “In our discussions about ancient art techniques, has anyone encountered a specific method or style that particularly intrigued them or presented a research challenge?”
Swallowing to calm my nerves, I give him my answer, “The use of mosaics in ancient Roman art has been interesting to me, but deciphering what they used to produce the original colors and how much those colors have changed over time has proved challenging.”
He nods in approval. “Good observation, Hannah. We’ll be exploring that more in the coming weeks.”
Johan continues to pepper his lecture with humor as the class progresses, effortlessly connecting with the students. It’s probably easier for him, having graduated so recently and being close in age to us. The original professor of the class did a phenomenal job in choosing her substitute.
“There will be a test next week,” he announces, prompting a chorus of groans and complaints. “You’d already know thatif you had all read the syllabus! But here is a pearl of wisdom for you all.” He pauses for dramatic effect, observing everyone as we become quiet. “If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed, just remember: at least you’re not deciphering ancient hieroglyphs without spell check!”