Chapter 4: A Love That Waited

I calmed down, putting some distance between us. “…Professor.”

My voice was small, almost a whisper.

He chuckled. “Now you remember to call me Professor?”

His laughter was soft. Warm. I felt the tension ease, just a little.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you here…”

I looked down, embarrassed.

“Lila,” he looked down at me. “Since the day I started tutoring you, I never thought of myself as your teacher.”

His words were gentle, but they carried weight. I felt my cheeks heat up.

Dr. Morgan was my physics tutor.

He’d helped me through endless problem sets, late-night phone calls, and the terror of college apps. I owed him more than I could ever say.

When no one believed I could get into UChicago, he was the one who supported me, calling every night to help me with problems and practice exams.

He never doubted me—not once. His faith became my own.

He pulled me up, little by little, from impossible to possible, until my name was posted on the honor roll.

The day the acceptance letter came, he was the first person I called. He’d sounded prouder than anyone.

But to be honest, he never even took money from my family.

My parents tried to pay, but he always refused. “It’s nothing,” he’d say. “Just helping out.”

He’d been accepted into a gifted youth program in middle school, and was the youngest professor ever hired by the university. He had no reason to tutor a high schooler.

People said it was because he was my brother’s childhood friend, and treated me like a little sister.

The rumors swirled, but I never asked. I was just grateful for his help.

But the day I got my acceptance letter, he told me honestly, “…It’s because I like you.”

His confession was quiet. Almost shy. It left me speechless.

Dr. Morgan was always direct about our relationship—he didn’t want any confusion to hurt me.

He never played games. He said what he meant, and meant what he said.

But that was a feeling I couldn’t return.

Because all my effort had only ever been for my promise with Autumn.

I’d built my world around someone who never asked me to, and now I didn’t know how to stop.

“It was selfish of me,” he said gently, with a self-mocking smile. “Don’t worry about it. You got into UChicago because you worked hard—believe in yourself.”

His words were balm, soothing the ache inside me. I nodded, swallowing hard.

“Dr. Morgan, I’m sorry, I—”

A clear rejection was all I could manage.

I wanted to say more, but the words stuck. He waited, patient as ever.

“Lila, don’t apologize. Helping you made me happy.”

His smile was soft, genuine. I felt tears prick my eyes.

After that, we lost contact.

Time passed. I tried to move on, but the memory of his kindness lingered.

Until today. Until now.

Standing beside him, I could still recall his soft, almost inaudible breathing on that phone call.

The memory was bittersweet, a reminder of everything I’d left unsaid.

“Come on, let’s go to the parking lot. I’ll take you back.”

He helped me again.

His presence was a comfort, steady and warm.

“Someone’s picking you up. Good.”

Autumn texted me.

His words were short, almost brusque. I stared at the screen, unsure how to respond.

A moment later, another message: “When did you meet him?”

Jealousy, maybe. Or just curiosity. I ignored it, slipping my phone into my pocket.

I didn’t reply.

The parking lot was at the end of the shopping street. We walked in silence. City lights reflected in puddles. Dr. Morgan kept pace beside me, umbrella steady overhead.

Dr. Morgan and I walked slowly, but still caught up to the others.

Their laughter drifted back to us, muffled by the rain. I felt a strange sense of peace.

Autumn and Savannah were at the back. He glanced over and saw me.

Our eyes met for a split second. He looked away, turning to Savannah with a forced laugh.

But he showed no emotion, just turned away to chat with Savannah, even laughing loudly at something she said. I could hear it all.

The laughter was too loud, too forced. I recognized the performance, the need to prove something.

He rarely laughed like that.

It was a sound I’d chased for years. Now, it felt hollow.

Trying to use Dr. Morgan to make Autumn jealous? Dumbest thing I could do. I realized it right then. He didn’t care—not really.

He didn’t care about me.

No matter how I dressed up, or what pretty dress I wore,

I always faded in comparison to Savannah.

It was a losing game, and I was tired of playing.

He said she was better than me in every way.

The words echoed in my mind, sharp and cold.

She had perfect skin, a great figure, effortless beauty—making my own makeup look even more ridiculous.

I’d tried to emulate her, but it never worked. I was always one step behind.

She could capture his attention so easily.

It seemed effortless for her, like breathing.

Why? Just because she was pretty?

Ugh.

The thought was petty, and I hated myself for it.

My nose stung.

I blinked hard, willing the tears away.

Why was I thinking like this?

I hated this side of myself.

I didn’t want to be jealous, or bitter. But it was hard not to be.

For no reason, I saw other girls as rivals because of him.

It wasn’t fair—to them, or to me. I deserved better.

Because of his hot-and-cold attitude, I got dragged into a pointless competition.

He kept me off-balance. Always guessing. I was done with it.

This isn’t right.

I don’t want to be like this.

“Careful, red light.”

Dr. Morgan pulled me back, snapping me out of it.

His hand was warm, steady. I looked up, grateful.

The red light separated me from Autumn.

He was smiling, talking to Savannah. Not noticing me at all. It was always like this. No matter how hard I tried, I was never the one he noticed.

Always left behind.

No matter what I did.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Morgan.”

I looked away, honestly.

“I should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. Thank you, but I can’t be with you. I’m sorry I used you as a prop tonight, I really…”

The words tumbled out, messy and raw.

I really am the worst.

The mix of frustration and self-loathing made my nose sting, and tears pricked my eyes.

I hated how easily I cried.

It was so embarrassing.

Dr. Morgan gently placed his hand on my head.

It was gentle, but with clear boundaries.

“Don’t apologize, Lila.”

His voice was clear and warm. “I liked you on my own, without your permission. You don’t owe me anything.”

His kindness made my chest ache. I blinked hard, trying to keep it together.

How could it be wrong to like someone?

To love and be loved is a beautiful thing.

He made it sound so simple, so true. I wished I could believe it.

The real problem was that Autumn never responded to me sincerely—he didn’t like me, but still enjoyed being chased.

And I lost myself, stubbornly treating my feelings for him as some grand gesture.

I was done being a martyr for someone who didn’t care.

“I knew how you felt, and I used your feelings to provoke someone else. That’s really awful,” I sniffled. “Dr. Morgan, I don’t deserve your feelings.”

“If you keep putting yourself down, I’ll get mad.”

He rarely scolded me.

His voice was gentle, but there was steel underneath.

I shut up, but couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

He handed me a tissue. Waited patiently as I wiped my eyes.

“Your dress looks great.”

He noticed.

His compliment was simple. Sincere. I managed a watery smile.

I covered my face. “Crying like this, my makeup must be a mess.”

Probably looked like a raccoon.

So ugly.

He took my hand, pulled it away, and looked at me with those clear, deep eyes.

“The Lila Sawyer I like is the best girl in the world.”

The best.

One of a kind.

His words settled over me like a warm blanket. For the first time in a long time—I believed them.

I was never Autumn’s only one.

Just a backup.

I’d never been loved with certainty and passion.

But it turned out, someone really could love me like that.

How could you do this, Dr. Morgan?

“That’s not fair, comforting someone like this…”

My voice trembled, but I didn’t pull away.

Just one sentence, and all my bottled-up feelings came pouring out.

Green light.

The signal in the rainy haze glowed green.

The spring air was thick with rain.

Ten seconds.

Time to move.

Across the street, I saw Autumn looking at me and Dr. Morgan, his expression unreadable.

Ten seconds.

I wiped my tears, hoping the rain would blur my face so he couldn’t see how pathetic I looked, and stepped forward to cross.

But Dr. Morgan stopped me. Held my wrist, wouldn’t let go.

“What is it?”

He wasn’t the type to show emotion or act impulsively.

“You never really used me as a prop.”

A raindrop hung from his long lashes. “Lila, this is how a prop should be used.”

His voice was soft, but there was a challenge in his eyes.

I never imagined someone as gentle as Dr. Morgan could pull me into his arms—so forcefully. Like he’d practiced it a thousand times in his mind.

He held me close, the world falling away.

“We’re even now.”

The early spring chill seeped through my coat. I couldn’t feel his body heat, but I could smell the faint scent on him—like the lime water I’d had that morning after the rain.

It made my ears burn.

Too close.

“What do you mean, even?”

My voice didn’t sound like my own.

“Lila Sawyer,” he smiled, “I’m taking advantage of the situation—I’m a bad guy too.”

His words sounded apologetic, but he didn’t mean to stop at all.

Red light.

A sharp car horn blared from across the street.

Autumn tried to run over, but Savannah held him back.

“Autumn! Red light! Are you crazy?!”

Her voice was frantic, cutting through the night. I watched as he struggled, torn between pride and something deeper.

Shock, anger—emotions I’d never seen on his face.

He seemed to be saying something to me.

But I couldn’t hear him.

All I could hear was Dr. Morgan’s voice.

“Take this bad guy with you, Lila.”

Bad guys don’t call themselves bad guys—unless they’ve already set the trap, pretending to be harmless.

His words made me laugh, despite myself.

“Not coming in?”

Raindrops slid from the umbrella onto the dark wood floor.

It was past curfew, and I stood outside Dr. Morgan’s apartment, not moving.

That fast?

What did he mean?

Was it what I thought it was?

My heart thudded in my chest, nerves jangling.

“What are you thinking?”

His voice was gentle, teasing.

“Nothing,” I blurted out. “…It’s not right to bother you, Professor.”

I fiddled with my bag strap, avoiding his gaze.

“Professor?”

He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You,” I corrected myself, staring at the tip of the umbrella. “Dr. Morgan, I—”

“Or do you want to go to a hotel?” he asked, totally straightforward.

I froze.

His bluntness caught me off guard. My face flamed.

“I just thought it’d be dangerous for you to stay in a hotel alone, so I brought you here to wait out the rain. Your brother will pick you up soon.” He took my umbrella. “Come in, I’ll make some ginger tea. You got wet—you should dry off.”

His concern was practical, matter-of-fact. I followed him inside, grateful for the excuse to escape my thoughts.

He pulled a clean white towel from the entryway drawer and draped it over my damp hair.

The towel was soft, still warm from the dryer. He hesitated, then handed it to me.

He started to help me dry it, but stopped halfway. I looked up at him. He turned away. “Do it yourself.” His ears went pink. I hid a smile.

The towel was freshly washed, with a pleasant lavender scent.

I breathed it in, comforted by the small kindness.

I changed my shoes and sat on the sofa.

The cushions were firm, the fabric cool against my skin. I curled up, listening to the rain drum against the windows.

Outside, the rain was pouring, like it’d never stop.

The city felt hushed, wrapped in silver. I watched the lights blur and dance.

The apartment was spacious, decorated in cool grays that matched his usual vibe—distant, hard to approach.

But there were small touches—books stacked on the coffee table, a worn baseball cap on a hook by the door—that made it feel lived-in.

But the boiling ginger tea in the kitchen filled the rain-wrapped space with a little warmth.

The scent was spicy and sweet, curling through the air. It reminded me of home.

Just like him.

Dr. Morgan was on the phone with my brother, tone calm, almost emotionless. He spoke in short sentences, efficient and to the point. Then he turned and caught my eye. Our gazes met. He offered a small, reassuring smile.

“…Yeah, the rain came on suddenly. Bring her some clothes, or she’ll catch a cold,” he said, glancing at me, then giving a lazy smile, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’m not a saint—better drive faster.”

My heart skipped a beat. I looked away, staring at the painting on the wall. God, it was ugly. The colors clashed, the lines crooked. But there was something endearing about it—like a memory you can’t quite let go of.

“Lila.”

He called my name suddenly, nearly making me jump.

“Huh?” I turned.

“Dry your hair and come drink some ginger tea.”

His voice was gentle, but firm. I obeyed, wrapping the towel tighter around my head.

I moved to the dining table.

The wood was cool beneath my fingers. I sat, hands folded, waiting.

He handed me a spoon.

When our hands touched, his face didn’t change at all.

He really was a gentleman. Too much, sometimes.

“I’m going to shower. Drink it all.”

I burned my tongue on a sip.

Why wasn’t he leaving? Wasn’t he going to shower?

I looked up—he was watching me with a half-smile.

So bad.

“Hurry up,” I urged, then realized how that sounded and added, “…You’ll catch cold if you don’t.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm.

“Mm.” He kept his tone measured. “Lila, why’s your face so red? Are you running a fever?”

He touched my forehead lightly with the back of his hand, then pulled away.

His touch lingered, gentle and careful.

“No fever. It’s just the steam from the ginger tea.”

“My fault—I made it too hot. Should’ve let it cool.”

He sounded genuinely apologetic. I rolled my eyes, hiding a smile.

“Yeah, yeah, blame you,” I pushed his hand away. “Dr. Morgan, go shower already.”

Ugh, this is too weird.

The whole vibe is weird.

The ginger tea was scalding, like the steam from his shower.

Even though I couldn’t feel the heat from his bathroom, every sip made it impossible to ignore the sound of water running.

My phone vibrated.

Autumn. Like a splash of cold water—cooling my barely-warmed stomach.

I didn’t answer, just hung up.

He kept calling, over and over.

The screen lit up again and again, his name glaring.

When I finally picked up, he was silent.

I waited, listening to his breathing on the other end.

“Where are you?”

His voice was rough, almost angry.

“None of your business.”

I kept my tone even, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Lila, you never used to hang up on me.”

He sounded hurt, but I didn’t care.

“Did you need something?”

I was tired of games.

“Where are you? Savannah says you didn’t go back to the dorm. Do you have any shame, running off with someone—”

His words were sharp, but I cut him off.

“What are you doing right now? Are you trying to show you care?” I said, mocking.

“If you’re trying to use him to get to me, you’re wasting your time, Lila,” he sneered. “I don’t care about your little games.”

The water in the bathroom stopped.

I could hear the silence stretch between us.

“If you don’t care, then don’t. I don’t care anymore either.” I told him, “Autumn Sullivan, I can let go. I mean it.”

And I hung up.

The rain was still pounding, thunder rumbling in the distance.

I got up and put my mug in the dishwasher.

The ginger tea was still steaming in the kitchen.

He’d only poured a mug for me, not for himself.

I rolled up my half-dry hair, grabbed a clean mug, and poured some tea.

The simple act steadied me, grounding me in the present.

“Lila.”

Dr. Morgan walked out in a beige cashmere sweater, soft as a spring cloud.

He looked relaxed, hair damp, cheeks flushed from the heat.

“I poured you a bowl,” I said, looking away.

My voice was small, but he smiled, accepting it.

He walked over, reached past my shoulder, and took the mug. “Careful, it’s hot.” His hand brushed mine. A jolt shot up my arm.

He poured a little more; his scent—woodsy and clean—wrapped around me in the rising steam.

I didn’t dare move.

If I did, I might spill the tea.

Burn myself, or him.

When he finished, he let go and stepped back.

Just as I tried to breathe, he asked, “You really don’t have a fever?”

“No!” I denied it immediately.

He sat at the table, sipping ginger tea. When he lowered his head, water droplets hung from his hair.

Good-looking people are good-looking from every angle.

My mind wandered, and I glanced at the painting in the living room.

It was carefully framed, but honestly, it was awful.

Did an ex-girlfriend paint it? But he’d never dated anyone.

“What are you looking at?”

He followed my gaze to the painting.

“To be honest, it’s really ugly,” I whispered. “Did you get scammed at an auction?”

Or maybe he just had odd taste?

He laughed. “I like it, that’s all that matters.”

Fair enough.

The doorbell rang.

He went to answer it.

“I’m just saying, letting her crash here for a night wouldn’t hurt, but no, you had to make me drive all the way from the North Side in this rain,” my brother complained as soon as he walked in.

His voice echoed through the apartment, a familiar comfort.

“Did you bring clothes?”

“What clothes?” He smacked his forehead. “Oh, I forgot… My bad, don’t give me that look. It’s scary.”

I poked my head out.

My brother acted like he’d found a savior. “My dear sister, aren’t you happy to see your big bro?”

He grinned, ruffling my hair. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling.

Dr. Morgan looked me up and down, frowning at my still-wet clothes.

His concern was obvious, but he didn’t say anything.

“Just lend her one of your shirts,” my brother said. “It’ll be big, but whatever.”

“That’s not proper.”

He handed my umbrella to my brother. “Turn up the heat in the car. Text me when you get home.”

His voice was firm, brooking no argument.

“Yeah, yeah,” my brother took the umbrella, muttering, “You treat her better than I do. You sure you’re not her real brother?”

I hurried him out.

“Not saying goodbye?” Dr. Morgan asked with a smile.

His eyes sparkled with mischief. I blushed, glancing away.

My brother raised an eyebrow, glancing between us.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

I cleared my throat. “Goodbye, Professor.”

I met his eyes.

Oh, he was mad.

His lips pressed into a thin line. I bit my lip, suddenly nervous.

The elevator arrived.

My brother urged me, “Lila, let’s go.”

Dr. Morgan sighed. “Goodbye, Lila.”

His voice was soft, almost wistful.

He turned to close the door, but I grabbed the edge of his sweater.

It was just as soft as it looked.

“Thank you, Morgan.”

My voice was quiet, but he heard me. He smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing.

In the car, my brother drove fast, humming songs all the way.

He sang from “Marry You” to “You Belong With Me.” His voice was terrible. I didn’t mind. The familiar tunes made me feel safe. Still, I groaned, “Slow down.”

He grumbled, “If it weren’t for my sharp eyes, I wouldn’t see through his fake innocence. Not proper! Hmph, he’s full of tricks, pretending to be all pure in front of you.”

I changed the subject.

“That painting in Dr. Morgan’s living room is really ugly.”

My brother paused, then burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“It is ugly,” he said. “He traded a month’s worth of lunch money for it in high school.”

“You drew it?”

No wonder it was so bad.

He looked at me, serious. “You drew it, my dear sister.”

The realization hit me like a freight train. I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face—for the first time that night, for a good reason.