Dance to This [kth]

t h r e e

ミ★
three
❝excused review?❞
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It's only Tuesday yet it feels as though the week has been going on for months. I've finally figured out the layout of Loomis' enormous campus, but unfortunately for me I've also figured out that many of my classes require an uphill battle.

The steep hills and hidden pathways rounding them are incredibly tricky to get the hang of. It's intimidating to walk across campus when signs leading you up a hill don't show what is on the other side.

I have gotten quite the workout by the time I arrive to my English class. This building is no different than every other— old, musty and stuffy.

I'm sitting by the window daydreaming about nothing as my English professor is reading the syllabus. It's a little gloomy out and the clouds have caught my attention by how quickly they are moving in the sky.

It's not until I hear the words "L'ange de Noel" that I'm forced to pay attention. Why can't I escape it? It was hard enough trying not to think about Professor Kim and his beautifully carved face last night, but now I have some old woman also talking about the play? Implicating him into my head?

"Your final in this class is simple," she explains. I'm just one of thirty other students sitting, uninterested, "Here at Loomis, we support the doings of other professors and departments."

I'm practically gnawing at my lip again because I'm overwhelmed by the memory of him. The way he looked at me. . . and the excitement of thinking I was wanted again to perform. Professor Kim somewhat frightens me, but at the same time I feel a sense of comfort in knowing he lives an artistic life. It's what I've always wanted for myself.

"Each one of you is required to attend Loomis' production of L'ange de Noel and write a review." Her voice is frail and sweet. She is looking at all of us as if we are all her grandchildren.

Professor Kim looked at his students as if he didn't see anyone in the room. His voice projected enough to send chills down the spines of even those not listening to him. He had a spotlight on him without trying. I sigh to myself because I have to stop thinking about him. It's weird. He's my professor.

My hand is in the air before I can stop it. I'm cringing again on the inside at the thought of everyone looking at me, but I try my hardest to push my anxious mindset aside this time. When I make eye contact with the professor, I exhale a small breath to speak.