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"As we delve into advanced instructional design," Dr. Morgan's voice cuts through my panic, unexpectedly soothing, "we'll be exploring how technology can be leveraged to create more engaging, effective learning experiences."
I focus on his voice. There's something about its deep, rich timbre that acts like a balm, easing the tension from my body. My racing thoughts slow, and I find myself drawn back into the present moment, anchored by Dr. Morgan's steady cadence.
When I look up, I catch his eye for a brief moment. He pauses, his brow furrowing slightly as he gives me a considering look. But he doesn't break stride in his lecture, smoothly continuing his explanation of the course outline.
Gradually, my pulse starts to slow back down. As I jot down notes about the course syllabus, a wave of embarrassment washes over me. It was just a book falling, for heaven's sake. A normal, everyday occurrence. Yet here I am, still trembling slightly, my mind only now fully returning from that dark place.
I'm supposed to be past this. It's been two years since I left Mark, two years since I escaped that nightmare of a relationship. I'm free now, aren't I? No more walking on eggshells, no more cowering at the sound of heavy footsteps, no more covering bruises with long sleeves and forced smiles.
But am I really free? Here I am, in a classroom full of strangers, nearly jumping out of my skin at a loud noise. My body still reacts as if I'm in danger, even when my mind knows I'm safe. It's like I'm trapped in a prison of my own making, held captive by fears I can't seem to shake.
I take another deep breath, trying to push these thoughts aside. Focus on the lecture, Sarah. You're here to learn, to move forward with your life. Don't let the past hold you back.
I force my attention back to Dr. Morgan, who's now discussing the major projects for the semester. His calm, steady voice continues to soothe my frayed nerves, and I find myself slowly relaxing as I immerse myself in the material.
By the time Dr. Morgan wraps up the lecture, I'm feeling much more like myself. The embarrassment has faded, replaced by a sense of excitement about the course ahead. As I pack up mylaptop, I realize that for the past hour, I haven't thought once about Mark or my past.
As the last student files out of the classroom, I gather my courage and approach Dr. Morgan's desk. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of academic excitement and nervous energy coursing through me.
"Dr. Morgan?" I say, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "Do you have a moment to discuss the independent study?"
He looks up from his papers, those piercing grey eyes meeting mine. For a second, I forget how to breathe.
"Of course, Ms. Mitchell," he replies, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine. "I was hoping we could chat about that."
I pull up a chair, trying to ignore how the classroom suddenly feels both too small and impossibly vast with just the two of us in it. "I've been working on refining my research proposal," I begin, fumbling with my laptop bag. "I'm really excited about exploring the Flipped Classroom Model and its potential impact on student engagement."
Dr. Morgan nods, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's a fascinating area of study," he agrees. "Tell me more about your specific angle."
As I launch into an explanation of my ideas, I feel my initial nervousness melting away. Dr. Morgan listens intently, asking insightful questions that push me to think deeper about my research goals. His eyes never leave mine, and I find myself getting lost in the depth of his gaze.
"Your passion for this subject is evident, Ms. Mitchell," he says, leaning forward slightly. "I think your research could make a significant contribution to the field."
A warm glow of pride spreads through my chest at his words. "Thank you, Dr. Morgan. That means a lot coming from you."
He smiles, and for a moment, I forget how to think. "I'd be very interested in working with you on this project," he says. "Your topic aligns well with my own research interests."
"Really?" I can't keep the excitement out of my voice. "That would be incredible!"
Dr. Morgan opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly freezes. His nostrils flare slightly, and something flashes in his eyes – surprise? Recognition? – before his entire demeanor shifts.
"Dr. Morgan?" I ask, concern creeping into my voice. "Is everything okay?"
He blinks hard, as if coming out of a trance. When he looks at me again, his expression is guarded, almost cold. "Yes, fine," he says curtly. "I just remembered an urgent matter I need to attend to."
The abrupt change in his tone leaves me reeling. What just happened?
"Oh," I say, trying to hide my confusion and hurt. "Should we reschedule?"
"No need," he replies, standing up abruptly. "I'll email you the details about the independent study. We can discuss further then."
I stand too, feeling off-balance. "Of course," I mutter, gathering my things. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Morgan."
He nods stiffly, already turning away. "Good day, Ms. Mitchell."
As I walk out of the classroom, my mind is whirling. What could have caused such a sudden shift? One moment we were having an engaging discussion, the next he could barely look at me. DidI say something wrong? Or is this just how he is – hot and cold, keeping students at arm's length?
The sting of rejection mixes with confusion as I make my way down the hallway. I thought we had connected, that he saw potential in my research. Now, I'm not so sure.
