Chapter 1 - Pilot

Vee

“Do you already have a topic for your thesis?”

That was the very first thing Professor Rodriguez asked me. Not hi, not welcome to Ashenwood University—just straight to the jugular. A thesis. On my first day. Sir, I barely knew where the bathroom was.

The truth? I didn’t transfer here for the thesis. I transferred because of one man: Thomas Hunt. Legendary director. My idol. The genius behind The Last Duchess. That film wasn’t just good—it was the kind of good that rewires your entire brain. It was also the film where Thomas met Elara, his wife, who was basically Hollywood royalty at the time. They made art and a love story in one. I mean, how could I not fall in love with film after that?

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it yet,” I admitted carefully.

Rodriguez gave me a look that could slice through glass. He was my student advisor, which meant he got to judge me for the rest of the year. “Well, you’ll need to decide soon. The other students already have strong proposals. Since this is your senior year, I expect you to think this through. You do have the option of a big project in place of a traditional thesis.”

That got my attention. “A project?”

He nodded, then jotted something down.

“I think…” I hesitated, then blurted, “I’d like to study Thomas Hunt’s The Last Duchess. That film is why I left my business major and switched to film.”

His brows jumped. “Plenty of students have written about that film. Hunt is… let’s just say extraordinarily popular. Are you also a fan of his wife?”

“I’m a fan of Thomas Hunt,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly. “I’ve seen all his work, but The Last Duchess—that one saved me. It made me want this life.”

He skimmed my file again, then looked up with the faintest smile. “From business to film studies, hmm?”

I shrugged. “Guess I like making bad decisions.”

The meeting dragged another thirty minutes before he finally dismissed me with, “You’ll need to meet Tyler Hill. He was Hunt’s assistant. He’s teaching Hunt’s classes this year. Introduction to Film Studies, three o’clock.”

Tyler Hill. Assistant to my hero. My first step closer.

I nodded quickly and hurried out of his office.

\~\~\~

It was 10:50 a.m.—ten minutes before my class started. History of Cinema in room 4-02. Panic surged through me as I half-ran toward the elevator. But after several seconds, the doors still hadn’t opened. Damn it. I spun around towards the emergency stairs.

Crash!

I collided with someone. My body hit the floor hard. Since when had there been someone standing right behind me? I thought I was alone.

The man was tall, with long hair tied neatly in a man bun. He extended his hand, and without hesitation, I took it. “Thanks,” I muttered hastily, then rushed down the stairs.

By the time I reached class, I was a mess—breathless, hair disheveled. And yes, late. Five minutes late, thanks to that useless elevator. Or maybe thanks to that collision. I didn’t know anymore.

And that was just the beginning.

Today I had three classes: History of Cinema at eleven, Screenwriting at one, and finally Introduction to Film Studies at three.

By the last class, my body was giving up. My head felt heavy, my eyelids begged for rest. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to nap for just a moment… the professor wasn’t here yet anyway—

Suddenly, someone tapped my elbow. Gently at first, then more firmly.

“Hey!” I yelped, jolting upright.

The classroom fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned toward me.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap time, princess.”

The voice was deep, edged with sarcasm.

I turned—and froze.

The tall man with the man bun. His stare was cold, his face sharp, commanding.

God. I’d fallen asleep. On my first day.

“Sit down if you still want to pass this class. Or leave—I don’t care.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I bowed my head quickly.

“Sorry, Sir,” I mumbled before sliding back into my seat.

I tried to focus on the lecture, but my mind kept wandering. His eyes… why did they feel so familiar?

And then it hit me.

The crash by the elevator earlier. The hand that had pulled me up.

Oh God.

Him. Professor Hill.

“Any questions, Ms?” he asked sharply, his tone cutting through me.

I shook my head quickly. “No, Sir.”

“Then sit straight and keep quiet while I explain. Otherwise, I’ll throw you out.”

Gulp. My throat tightened.

“My apologies, Sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He continued the lecture as if nothing had happened.

All I could do was stare at my notebook, mortified.

Day one, and everything was already a disaster.

Perfect first day, Vee. Just perfect.

\~\~\~

Tyler

I had just returned from Thomas’s mansion when I came back to the university to teach Introduction to Film Studies.

This class was supposed to be taught by Thomas himself. But with his health deteriorating, I stepped in.

I am Tyler Hill—Thomas Hunt’s protege, fresh off finishing my Master’s degree only a few months ago. That’s how people see me, anyway.

But Thomas always said, “Don’t listen to the world. Listen to yourself.” His words have stayed with me. Let them whisper behind my back—I don’t care.

This small university survives on Thomas’s reputation alone. Even as his health declined, they clung to him. It was Thomas who decided I should replace him this year, so he could finally focus on treatment.

My thoughts drifted back to earlier that morning. A girl had crashed into me by the elevator, so hard she fell to the floor.

“Ow.”

I had offered her my hand, and she’d taken it quickly, only managing a rushed, “Thanks,” before running off.

What a mess.

Clearly, she was late for class. I sighed, then stepped into the elevator that finally opened.

The rest of the day, I buried myself in editing Thomas’s unfinished script. By the time I looked up, the clock read 2:50.

I entered the classroom. Some students were already seated. I organized my notes, set up the presentation—trying to steady myself.

The first day shouldn’t be difficult, right?

“Good afternoon. Before we begin, let me introduce myself. I’m Tyler Hill. I’ll be covering Professor Hunt’s classes during his absence. And just because I’m a substitute doesn’t mean you can do as you please. I spent the last seven years studying Film under Professor Hunt’s direct supervision. So if you think you can slack off in my class, there’s the door—and don’t even think about coming back. Now, let’s begin—”

But then I saw her.

One student immediately caught my attention. A girl, head resting on her arms, fast asleep.

Daring enough to nap in my very first class.

I walked over. Her long black hair spilled across the desk, framing her face like a curtain.

I couldn’t find the words to describe it—but the sight was… beautiful.

I touched her arm lightly, trying to wake her.

She jolted upright, gasping, then stood awkwardly from her seat.

And that was when I saw her more clearly.

Hazel eyes, still heavy with sleep. A face flushed with embarrassment. Disheveled, imperfect—and yet my heart skipped a beat.

I couldn’t show it, not here. Around fifteen other students were watching.

But there was something about her.

The way she bowed shyly, the way her apology sounded like the weight of the world pressed on her shoulders. It was precisely that imperfection that drew me in.

I wanted to know who she was.

Why she looked so tired on her first day.

And why one glance from her was enough to shake the walls I thought I’d built.

I kept my face stern. No weakness. This was my first lecture—I had to stand firm. But deep down, I knew something had shifted the moment those eyes met mine.

She sat back down, murmuring an apology. I resumed teaching, doing everything I could not to look at her again.

Her eyes were dangerous.

Fifteen minutes passed without issue. Then suddenly, I felt her stare. She was looking straight at me, wide-eyed—as if she had just realized something.

And I realized it too.

The girl in my class was the same girl who had crashed into me earlier by the elevator.

I froze. The world seemed to shrink, leaving only her startled gaze locked on mine.

Was this coincidence too neat to believe?

Or was fate already at work?

I clenched my jaw, pretending to focus on my lecture. But inside, my heart had already betrayed me.

I didn’t know her name yet.

But one thing was certain—

this was not going to be the last time we met.

\~\~\~

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