The room is a blend of modern and classic—ivory wallpaper, antique furniture, and a sleek, contemporary sofa. The ambiance is warm yet professional, a space that speaks of taste and a certain quiet luxury.
Julian smiles faintly, an almost imperceptible glint of pride in his eyes as he moves to the coffee machine.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asks, pressing a button.
Harry sinks into the sofa, still admiring the surroundings.
"Like, who doesn't drink coffee?" he responds with a grin.
The corner of Julian's lips tugs up in a knowing smile.
There's one person I know who doesn't drink coffee, he thinks, the thought drifting through his mind like a quiet secret—something only he knew about Grace.
Then, almost as if reading his mind, Harry chuckles and adds, "Oh, right. Grace doesn't drink coffee."
Julian's hand freezes midair, the coffee cup suspended just above the drawer. His breath catches for a split second, a small flicker of disappointment in his chest. He'd thought of that as his little piece of Grace—something only he knew. But now, hearing Harry mention it so casually, it feels as though that small, intimate fact has been shared.
Right, so Harry must know too, Julian thinks, the tiny thrill of knowing something others don't slowly fading.
It's like the secret tie he'd once savored has slipped a little.
With a smooth motion, Julian retrieves the cup and walks over to the sofa, handing one to Harry.
"Arabica," he says, his tone neutral but warm.
"Thanks, Julian," Harry replies, accepting the cup with both hands, his expression polite yet slightly amused.
Julian moves over to the desk, leaning casually against the back of the chair as he sits, his posture relaxed and comfortable.
"So, how are you enjoying the class so far?" he asks, his voice steady and composed.
Harry grins, leaning back into the plush sofa, clearly at ease.
"I'm enjoying it a lot this term. Your lectures are always so engaging, you know? I was never the fashion-type guy, but you're really pulling me into this world."
At Harry's words, Julian's lips twitch into a small grin. It's amusing, in a way, to think that Harry, despite being the only son of Harrison Group—the prestigious, global fashion empire—claims not to have much of an interest in fashion.
"Well, it's interesting that you weren't into fashion in the first place," Julian says with a casual tone, taking a sip of his coffee.
The warmth of the drink contrasts with the slight bemusement in his chest.
Harry's eyes widen slightly.
"You know…?" he asks, surprised.
Julian simply shrugs, the faintest of smiles playing on his lips.
Harry flusters, his words tumbling out in disbelief. "Wow, I didn't know you already knew. How did you…?" He pauses, an idea striking him. "Wait. Did you—did you come to the Harrison Fashion party two weeks ago?"
Julian remains silent for a beat, only offering a shrug and a knowing smile in response.
The realization hits Harry, and his face goes a little pale. His heart races, and he's left almost stammering.
"I… I didn't know. How did I not see you there? Maybe you didn't come to the after party?"
"I went back home pretty early in the midst of the event."
"Oh, that makes sense," Harry says, nodding as he pieces things together. "But you must have at least seen me give the introduction speech as the son of the Harrison Group. I wasn't exactly stellar at it back then, so… please forget about it, Prof."
Julian chuckles softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"I didn't watch your speech, so don't worry. I left before that," he says with a calm smile.
Harry pauses, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. He wonders for a moment how Julian knows he's the son of the Harrison Group. Then, the thought strikes him—Julian must have heard it from someone else who attended the event. What Harry doesn't realize is that his father, feeling a certain closeness to Julian, introduced himself as such. Harry only knows that his father and Julian are well-connected in the industry, and that his father has carefully kept the fact that his son is attending the same graduate school as Julian a secret.
Harry gives a composed smile, but there's a hint of unease behind it. "Well, just don't tell anyone I'm the son of that group, okay? It's kind of awkward when people find out."
"I won't," Julian replies smoothly, his grin widening just a little. "Don't worry about it."
"Thanks," Harry says with a shrug, trying to brush off the awkwardness. "You know… I've been meaning to ask you something…"
Julian takes a slow sip of his coffee, sets the cup down, and looks at Harry expectantly.
"Yeah? What's on your mind?"
"Why did you start these one-on-one sessions all of a sudden?" Harry asks, leaning back slightly. "I heard from a few friends who took your class last term that this wasn't something you did before."
Julian hesitates, a brief pause hanging in the air as he processes the question. It feels as though Harry has somehow pierced right into his thoughts—like he's seen through him in a way that catches Julian off guard. But Julian, ever the master of navigating human interaction, shakes it off. Well, almost everyone except for Grace Silver.
"I thought it was something I needed to start this term," Julian says with a mischievous smile. "I felt like I didn't have enough interaction with the students last term, my first as a professor. So, I decided to try this. It's kind of like an interview, really."
Harry laughs, shaking his head.
"No, no, I didn't mean to interrogate you. Sorry, Julian."
"I was just joking. But, speaking of, how's the workload going? Is everything manageable so far?"
"Yeah, it's good," Harry responds, sounding genuinely content. "I actually like the group project. And my project partner, I guess."
At that, Julian feels a brief, strange flutter in his chest. He knows exactly who Harry's partner is—Grace. The thought lingers for just a moment, but Julian pushes it aside, maintaining his composure.
"Sounds like a good balance," Julian says smoothly, keeping his tone casual. "So, what's your plan after graduate school?"
Harry leans back further into the sofa, getting comfortable.
"You know, I don't really have any plans," he admits with a slight shrug.
Julian raises an eyebrow, a quiet, amused thought passing through his mind.
Typical rich boy, with no real dreams.
He takes a sip from his coffee, his nonchalant smile never faltering.
"It's okay," Julian continues with a slight chuckle, "you can always figure it out later."
Harry cuts him off, suddenly looking more serious. "But, you know, lately, I've been kind of getting interested in the fashion industry. Ever since I started taking your course. Your lectures have this way of pulling me in."
Julian blinks in mild surprise, but then his lips curl into a small, approving grin.
"Good to hear," he says, his voice warm with approval.
Harry nods, looking pleased with himself for sharing. Then, after a brief pause, he leans forward, his expression shifting to one of genuine curiosity.
"So… just one more thing. This is just a question, man to man."
"What?" Julian asks, raising an eyebrow as he leans back in his chair.
"How do you… make a girl you like, like you back?" Harry blurts out, his voice lighter than usual.
At those words, Julian pauses, his mind momentarily going blank. After a few seconds of processing, he lightly taps his fingers on the desk, his gaze steady.
"Seems like there's someone you like?" Julian asks, his tone casual, though a twinge of curiosity laces it.
Harry shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
"Yeah, a girl I met recently. I think I like her."
For some reason, Julian feels a tension that catches him off guard. Harry hasn't mentioned her name, but Julian can almost feel it—the way Harry's eyes glinted with something unspoken when he looked at Grace. The connection is almost palpable.
"Well…" Julian says, pretending not to understand, his voice even and smooth. "Just be nice, I guess. Be candid about your feelings."
Harry's grin widens.
"Right, you're so right. Oh, and about that group project, thanks for assigning me with Grace, even though it was the computer that actually did it."
Julian freezes. His eyes narrow slightly as the words settle in, and for a moment, he doesn't know how to respond.
Harry, however, smiles innocently, completely unaware of the undercurrent now running between them.
"Just like you said, I'll be nice and candid with her from now on."
"So she's the one," Julian says, his voice dipping into something quieter, more uncertain. The words come out with an uneasy smile, as if he's trying to mask something else entirely.
Harry just grins, unfazed.
It's 4 PM, and Grace is finally home. After a long day filled with discussions about the group project with Harry, she enters her apartment, dropping her backpack carelessly onto the floor. She strides into the living room and collapses onto the sofa, letting the soft cushions embrace her tired body.
The tension in her shoulders slowly melts away. All day, her mind has been preoccupied—her thoughts lingering on the mysterious text and the photo that had shown up on her phone. She couldn't shake the nagging curiosity of who might have sent it. Who had been watching her so closely?
She had glanced at everyone around her today, trying to pick up on any subtle clue. But every face looked so innocent, so unaware. The guilt of suspecting her friends, her classmates, kept creeping up on her.
But who is it really? she wonders as she absentmindedly unlocks her phone, her thumb scrolling through the profile pictures on her messenger app.
As if on cue, her phone rings, pulling her out of her thoughts.