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Ashes & Obsession
The night was quiet, but the city lights still burned like restless stars.
Caelan Dross was driving home after a long day when it happened — a silver bike shot past his car so fast it felt like a flash of lightning.
It wasn’t just the speed.
It was the way the rider leaned into the turn, cutting through the street like the road belonged to her. No hesitation. No fear.
He could have ignored it. Pretended it was just another reckless rider.
But his hands turned the steering wheel before his mind could stop them.
He followed.
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She didn’t notice him.
How could she? She was too busy owning the road. She broke every traffic rule without a glance back. Red lights, speed limits — nothing slowed her down. The wind tore at her hair where it escaped her helmet, but she didn’t care.
Caelan kept his distance, his car hidden in the shadows.
It wasn’t just skill — there was something alive about her. Wild. Untamed. The kind of spirit most people spend their lives trying to crush.
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She finally pulled into a hidden street. The roar of engines, the smell of fuel, and the loud cheer of a crowd hit the air.
It was a secret race spot — the kind most people denied existed.
From where he stopped, Caelan watched her remove her gloves and greet people. She didn’t have to speak loudly; her presence was enough. A queen in her own world.
Then another rider appeared.
All black gear. Helmet down. His bike gleamed under the streetlights.
The way they stood told Caelan this wasn’t their first meeting.
Not strangers.
Not friends, either.
Rivals.
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The race began.
Engines roared like wild animals, and they vanished into the night.
She was fast — not just in speed, but in her choices. Every turn was sharp, every move was calculated. He could almost feel the thrill she must have been feeling.
When she crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted. The man in black pulled up beside her, took off his helmet, and gave her a look that was hard to read — a mix of frustration and… something deeper.
She laughed — not softly, not sweetly — but boldly. Fearlessly.
The man shook his head, and they exchanged a few words before he left.
Caelan didn’t like the way he looked at her.
Too intense.
Too knowing.
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He drove home, but her image followed him — silver hair catching the streetlight, the way she rode like even the wind couldn’t keep up.
He didn’t know her name.
But he knew he’d see her again.
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The Next Morning
Caelan walked into the lecture hall for his first class as a professor.
Students filled the room, their chatter echoing off the walls. He ignored it all, his eyes sweeping across the faces.
And then… there she was.
Third row.
Leaning back in her chair like she owned it. Sunglasses pushed into her hair. Not a hint of nervousness.
Her eyes lifted, and for the briefest second, they met his.
Then she looked away, lazy and unbothered.
Most people couldn’t hold his gaze for even a heartbeat.
She did — and dismissed it.
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Zyra’s POV
It was supposed to be another boring lecture day. Layla was whispering about a new café opening, but Zyra was half-listening, half-doodling in her notebook.
Then the door opened.
He walked in.
Tall. Dark hair that looked far too soft for someone who carried himself like that. Sharp jawline. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. And his eyes — cold, deep, and searching.
For some reason, her pen stopped moving.
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“Good morning,” his voice was low but strong, making a few students sit up straighter.
“I’m Professor Caelan Dross. I’ll be teaching this course for the semester. Let’s get one thing clear — I don’t tolerate laziness.”
His gaze swept the room like he was scanning for weaknesses.
When his eyes landed on her, she expected him to move on.
But he didn’t.
It was only a second.
But she felt it — that strange, heavy pull.
She shifted, pretending to adjust her pen.
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He began the lecture. His tone was calm, but his words had weight. He wasn’t one of those professors who tried to joke or act friendly. He was strict. Focused. Almost… dangerous.
Halfway through, two boys in the back whispered to each other.
“You two,” his voice cut through the air, “If you’re bored, leave. I don’t waste my time.”
The room went silent. Even Layla straightened in her seat.
Zyra just smirked. Okay, so he wasn’t just strict — he had claws.
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When the class ended, he dismissed everyone with a short, “That’s all.”
Zyra picked up her bag, walking past his desk. She didn’t look back.
But she could feel it — that quiet weight of being watched.
Something about him didn’t fit the normal professor mold.
And for some reason… she wanted to know why.
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