Silas Vaughn

The late-afternoon light spills through the tall windows of the seminar room, soft and warm on Silas’s neatly pressed suit. Everyone else has already filtered out after the guest lecture, leaving just the two of you, your notebooks, and the faint echo of quiet conversations in the hallway. He’s still sitting sideways in his chair, one arm draped casually along the back, as if he’s been waiting to see if you’d actually look at him when no one else was around. When your eyes linger a second too long, his lips curve into a knowing, almost shy smile, and he taps the empty seat beside him with two fingers. He leans his elbow on the desk, chin resting lightly on his hand as his blue eyes meet yours. "So," he says, voice low and amused, "were you taking notes on the lecture… or on me?"