Chapter 1: A Promise to Myself
There are promises we make because we are afraid of getting hurt, and others we make simply because we believe we are wise enough to know better.
Mine was a little of both.
I promised myself that I would never fall for a professor.
It sounded reasonable, didn’t it? After all, I was in college to earn a degree, build a future, and perhaps figure out what I wanted to become someday. Falling for someone whose world was already far beyond the boundaries of mine was never part of the plan.
I had enough things to worry about.
Assignments that seemed to multiply overnight, examinations that arrived before I could properly prepare, group projects that tested my patience, and the endless responsibilities that came with being a university student. I barely had enough time for myself, so why would I willingly make room for feelings that could only complicate everything?
At least, that was what I kept telling myself.
My name is not particularly interesting, and neither is my life. I am just an ordinary college girl with an unreasonable attachment to beautiful skies, unfinished paintings, and little things that most people probably never notice.
I enjoy quiet mornings, especially when the campus is still waking up. I like watching sunlight slip through the windows, listening to the distant conversations of students, and observing how different people carry themselves throughout the day.
Sometimes, I bring a small sketchbook with me. It is almost always tucked inside my bag, between notebooks and folders that I rarely organize properly.
I draw whenever I have the chance.
Not because I am particularly talented, but because painting allows me to express things I cannot always put into words. There are days when I cannot explain why I feel happy, sad, or strangely nostalgic. On those days, I let my paintbrush do the talking.
I have painted flowers that reminded me of childhood, windows that looked like places I wanted to visit, and sunsets that seemed too beautiful to disappear.
But among all the things I loved painting, the moon had always been my favorite.
There was something comforting about looking at it. It never seemed to demand anything from anyone. It simply stayed above us, quietly shining even when clouds covered most of its beauty.
Perhaps that was why I liked it so much.
It was beautiful without needing to be reached.
And maybe, without realizing it, I had always been drawn to things I could admire but never possess.
The beginning of a new academic term always made the university feel different.
The hallways became crowded again, familiar faces reunited, and students hurried from one building to another with their schedules in hand. Some looked excited, while others already seemed exhausted despite classes having barely started.
I was somewhere in between.
I enjoyed returning to school, although I would never admit that I missed waking up early. There was something exciting about new subjects, new lessons, and the possibility of meeting people who might eventually become part of my college memories.
That morning, I arrived earlier than usual.
My bag rested against my shoulder as I walked through the campus entrance. I greeted a few familiar faces, checked my class schedule for what felt like the hundredth time, and made my way toward the building where my first class would be held.
I stopped near a window overlooking the courtyard.
The morning was particularly beautiful. A few students were sitting beneath the trees, some were reviewing their notes, and others were simply enjoying their conversations before the first bell.
I reached inside my bag and took out my sketchbook.
There was an unfinished drawing on the last page. A crescent moon surrounded by faint clouds, with a few tiny stars scattered across the empty space.
I stared at it for a moment before adding another small detail.
“Still obsessed with the moon?”
I looked up.
One of my classmates stood beside me, smiling as she glanced at my sketchbook.
“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” I asked.
“Not really. I just think you should try drawing something else for a change.”
I laughed quietly and closed the sketchbook.
“Maybe next time.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Then maybe the next next time.”
She shook her head, amused, before reminding me that we still had to find our classroom.
I slipped the sketchbook back into my bag and followed her.
It was an ordinary morning, nothing worth remembering in particular.
At least, that was what I thought.
I have never been particularly interested in romantic stories involving professors and their students.
Whenever my friends talked about handsome instructors or charming lecturers, I would usually laugh along without contributing much to the conversation.
I understood the appeal. Some professors were naturally attractive, well-spoken, and confident. Others had a certain presence that made people listen whenever they entered a room.
But admiration was one thing.
Falling in love was another.
I knew there was a difference, and I wanted to keep it that way.
There were boundaries that did not need to be tested, feelings that did not need to be entertained, and situations that were better left uncomplicated.
Besides, I had always believed that love should not make someone forget the reason they were there in the first place.
I wanted to graduate. I wanted to make my family proud. I wanted to build a life that I could call my own.
Those were the things that mattered.
So, before the semester could get any busier, I made a quiet promise to myself.
No unnecessary attachments.
No searching for meaning in ordinary gestures.
And definitely no falling for a professor.
I even smiled at the thought, convinced that keeping such a promise would be easy.
How difficult could it possibly be?
I had no idea that some feelings did not announce their arrival. They did not knock, ask permission, or wait until we were ready.
Sometimes, they simply appeared in the middle of an ordinary day.
And sometimes, the person who would eventually occupy so much space in your thoughts was someone you had not even properly met.
By the time my first class ended, the campus had become noticeably busier.
I gathered my belongings, placed my notebook inside my bag, and checked the time on my phone.
There was still a little while before my next subject.
I decided to spend the remaining minutes walking around the building rather than sitting inside an overcrowded classroom.
As I passed the corridor, I noticed a group of students discussing their schedules. Somewhere nearby, someone was laughing loudly, while a few others hurried down the stairs.
I walked past them without paying much attention.
My mind was already occupied with the things I needed to accomplish that day.
I had assignments to review, notes to organize, and a painting I wanted to finish before the weekend.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing that suggested my life was about to become a little more complicated.
And certainly nothing that could have warned me about the person I would eventually remember whenever I looked at the moon.
For now, I was simply a girl with a sketchbook, a busy academic life, and a promise she believed she could keep.
I had no reason to expect anything different.
I had no reason to look for someone.
And I certainly had no reason to fall.
Not yet.
Because I had made a promise to myself.
And at that moment, I still believed I was strong enough to keep it.
