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I just stared at the whiteboard, my eyes twitching at the words he had written in bold letters: SURPRISE TEST.

Seriously? After the week I’d had, after the back-to-back lectures and zero sleep… this?

My blood boiled. My pen nearly snapped in my hand as I glared at his infuriatingly calm face. I wanted to throw something at him. No—stab him.

I hated him. I hated Azlan Khalid.

My so-called husband.

He didn’t even flinch as the entire class groaned in unison. He just adjusted his glasses, hands tucked casually into his pockets, like he enjoyed our collective misery.

Of ourse he did. Azlan Khalid lived for this.

I sank lower in my chair, clutching my notebook like it was a weapon. My classmates whispered around me, some already flipping pages to revise, but all I could think about was how much I despised him.

This man wasn’t just a professor. He was a tyrant.

And the worst part? I had to go home and see the same face in my house.

The nerve of the universe.

He scanned the room with those sharp eyes and—oh no—his gaze landed right on me. My breath hitched. For a second, just a second, it felt like he could see right through me.

But then his mouth curved into the tiniest smirk.

And I swear, I was going to throw my notebook at his head.

I just start staring at my notebook not even reading a word.

I was still glaring holes into my notebook, pretending to study while plotting a hundred ways to disappear, when his voice cut through the silence.

“Roll number 27.”

My head snapped up. Oh no. That was me.

Dozens of eyes turned in my direction. My cheeks burned as I slowly looked up at him. He was standing there, hands still in his pockets, expression unreadable—but I could see the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Yes…?” I managed, my voice thinner than I wanted.

He tilted his head. “Are you planning to pass this test by staring at your book? Or should I give you extra marks for glaring at it so passionately?”

A few people chuckled under their breath. I gripped my pen tighter. “I was… revising,” I muttered.

He raised a brow. “Revising? Without turning a single page for the last ten minutes?”

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. But instead, I lifted my chin, glaring at him. “Maybe I’m memorizing, Professor.”

Something flickered in his gaze at my defiance, but he only nodded slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back a smile.

“Good,” he said coolly. “Then you’ll be the first one to hand in a perfect paper.”

My jaw dropped. The entire class gasped and snickered, some whispering “oh no” under their breath.

I clenched my jaw. I really, really hate him.

I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as the laughter died down. Everyone else quickly ducked their heads, too scared to become his next target, but my humiliation was already complete.

How dare he single me out like that?

I gritted my teeth, gripping my pen so hard it was a miracle it didn’t snap in two. I was going to fail this test out of sheer spite. And then maybe set his precious notes on fire.

He stepped closer, his presence towering and unshakable as ever. “Roll number 27,” he said again, his tone softer this time, yet somehow sharper. “Eyes on the paper. Not the desk. Not the wall. Not your… creative plans to escape.”

My head shot up, startled. Was he—was he reading my mind?

He leaned slightly, just enough so only I could hear. “Don’t make me call you again.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, forcing my gaze down to the test paper he’d just placed in front of me.

His cologne lingered for a second too long before he walked away, leaving me flustered and furious all over again.

I hate him. I absolutely, positively hate Azlan Khalid.

"Everyone close down your books" he said and we do because we don't have any other option. I rolls my eyes.

The rustle of papers filled the room as everyone bent over their desks. Pens scratched furiously, but my brain… completely blank.

I stared at the first question. It wasn’t even hard. I knew this. But my mind was too busy replaying the last thirty seconds, his voice still echoing in my head like he’d set up camp there.

"Eyes on the paper…”

I groaned softly under my breath and shook my head, forcing myself to focus. But every time I wrote a line, my gaze involuntarily drifted toward the front of the class.

And there he was.

Standing with his arms folded, scanning the room like a hawk. Sharp, unbothered, intimidating… and somehow, annoyingly magnetic.

I snapped my eyes back to the paper. No. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of catching me again.

I scribbled an answer, then another, but my hand trembled when I felt his shadow pass by my desk. My entire body went stiff.

He stopped. Right next to me.

I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel him watching.

“You’ve only answered two questions,” his low voice cut through the silence, meant only for me.

My throat went dry. “I… I’m thinking.”

“Think faster,” he said calmly, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Time isn’t your friend.”

And just like that, he walked away.

My heart was racing. My blood was boiling. And I was about two seconds away from tearing the paper in half.

I stared at the paper, my pen hovering in mid-air. My thoughts were a tangled mess of anger, humiliation, and… whatever this ridiculous fluttering in my chest was.

Focus, Noor. Focus!

I forced my eyes back to the questions, scribbling half-formed answers just to fill the spaces. But my mind wasn’t cooperating. Every time my pen touched the paper, I could feel his presence somewhere in the room—moving, watching, waiting.

What was worse? The fact that I was terrified he’d call me out again… or the fact that some part of me kept noticing where he was?

My fingers tightened around the pen. Ugh! Why am I even thinking about him?

I peeked up for a second, and of course, he was looking right at me.

I froze.

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just that sharp, unreadable stare that made my pulse skyrocket. And then—he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, get back to work.

I whipped my eyes down to the paper so fast my neck almost snapped. My cheeks burned.

Why is he like this?

I scribbled answers furiously, not even caring if they made sense. But it was impossible to concentrate when every breath felt like I was under surveillance.

The classroom was dead silent except for the scratching of pens, but inside my head, it was chaos.

I hate him. I really, really hate him.

And yet… my treacherous heart wouldn’t stop racing every time his footsteps neared my desk.

By the time I reached the last question, my brain was fried. Half the answers I’d written made no sense, and the other half… well, I wasn’t even sure they were real words anymore.

I sighed and glanced at the clock. Five minutes left. Great. Just great.

Flipping back through the pages, I realized how hopeless this was. There was no way I’d pass. My shoulders slumped as I stared at my pitiful handwriting.

And then a wicked little idea sparked.

Biting my lip to keep from smiling, I flipped my notebook to a blank corner and quickly scribbled:

**“Dear Professor Khalid,

I know most of my answers are wrong… but you should still give me full marks because:

1. I tried really hard.

2. I’m very cute when I’m upset.

3. You don’t want me to fail and haunt you for life.

Thank you. :)"**

I almost snorted out loud at my own daring, but managed to stifle it. Tearing the note from my notebook would be too obvious, so I left it neatly written at the bottom of the last answer.

The second the bell rang, I slapped the paper shut and marched up to the front, keeping my face as blank as possible.

“Done?” His voice was calm, but his eyes flicked over me as I handed him the paper.

“Yes,” I said shortly, refusing to meet his gaze.

He took the paper from me, his fingers brushing mine for a fleeting second, then set it on the pile. But just as I turned to leave, he called out,

“Roll number 27.”

I froze. Slowly, I looked back.

He was holding up my paper, and there was the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We’ll see,” he said softly, “if your creativity can earn you marks.”

My stomach dropped. Oh no… he saw it.

I bolted for the door, my ears burning as laughter bubbled behind me.

I don't idn’t even look back. The moment those words left his lips, I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the classroom, weaving through desks like my life depended on it.

“Noor! Wait up!” My best friend, Aisha, was scrambling after me, trying not to trip over her own bag straps.

“Don’t look back! Just run!” I hissed, yanking her out the door with me.

The hallway was thankfully empty, and we didn’t stop until we were far from the classroom. I leaned against the wall, clutching my chest, gasping for air like I’d just escaped a battlefield.

Aisha doubled over next to me, panting. “What… what happened in there? You looked like you saw a ghost!”

I groaned, covering my face with both hands. “It’s worse than a ghost. He… he saw my note.”

Her eyes went wide. “What note?”

“The one I wrote at the bottom of my test,” I whispered, horrified. “I asked him to give me marks even if my answers were wrong. I may have… um… called myself cute.”

Aisha’s jaw dropped, and then she burst out laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach.

“This isn’t funny!” I smacked her arm, but she only laughed harder.

“Noor, you’re done for,” she wheezed. “Azlan Khalid is going to make your life miserable for this.”

I slid down the wall dramatically. “My life is already miserable. He’s my professor and my husband. Now he’ll have even more reason to torture me.”

Aisha knelt beside me, still giggling. “Or…” She wiggled her brows. “Maybe he’ll actually give you the marks. You are cute when you’re upset.”

I threw my bag at her. “Not helping!” but deep down, I knew she was right about one thing—Azlan wasn’t going to let me live this down.

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