My Forbidden Secret: The Professor, Me, and a Line Crossed

I still can’t believe I’m writing this, putting it out there for strangers to read. The guilt is a heavy blanket, suffocating me, but maybe confessing here will lift a tiny corner. It started innocently enough, or so I tell myself. I was just another face in a crowded lecture hall, the kind who always chose a seat at the back, hoping to blend into the shadows. My grades were consistently B’s – not bad, not great, just… average. I never raised my hand, never participated, and honestly, he, Professor Sharma, never really looked at me. Not once, beyond the fleeting glance during attendance. He was this towering figure of professionalism, respected, articulate, and completely out of my league. And married. That part always echoed in my mind.

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