Aditya Hooda had killed himself.
With no worries of the ramifications he tore away at the protective shell that coiled around his heart and rid himself of every emotion that made him humane, welcomed inhumanity into the darkest depths of his soul, focused only on his deepest desires and stopped living by the rules dictated to him. He was no longer caged, had broke free of his chains and breathed fresh, new air.
Having read the Ars Moriendi he had chuckled at the idea of dying in the correct manner, death was significant of the end of something, for some it was a life, for him it was of goodness, of purity, of light. It was now that shadows of past misfortunes embedded themselves into his skin and crawled through his veins, embellished upon his own blood that dripped down his fingers when the nightmares were too much to handle at once. He had always fancied himself a macabre artist, but it hadn't taken long for him to lose his passion and stop creating altogether.
Closing his eyes, he revelled in the soft melody of Tchaikovsky's Vakula The Smith, the soundtrack though classical had always been one he could relate to, maybe because the score was handed in anonymously beside the words art is eternal, life is short, or maybe it was because he too had been party to a woman who didn't know what she wanted until it was too late. Regardless, the past was the past, the past created the character but it didn't always have to influence the ending, no, he was the writer of his story, he would decide how it ended and it certainly would not be in a pit of sadness because a woman he loved had broke him, his heart no longer could house love anyway, he had ensured it himself.
The bell on the door moved him from his thoughts and caused his flame coloured eyes to open and run over the usually lonely bar as a woman made her way to the counter and slid a note over it "What is the likelihood that you will allow me to keep my bag behind the bar while I finish some errands? My arms are killing me". It wasn't everyday a woman walked into a bar and tried to use it as a storage place rather than a place to purchase a drink, he was immediately intrigued. She held herself in such a- for lack of a better word- seductive way, each step she took was full of poise, her voice was deep and sultry as if she had witchcraft on her lips and magic on her hips. But as soon as he stood to get a better view, the bartender agreed to keep a hold of her stuff and she had vanished.
Slipping back into his seat he gathered his paperwork, looked down at his pocket watch as he pulled it from his blazer, nodded at the bartender and headed for the door, though he tried not to follow the clock due to the fact it was a thinly veiled attempt at constraint, he couldn't afford to be late today, so he had no choice but to allow time to control his steps. Throwing his briefcase in the passenger seat of his car, he climbed inside and rolled his shoulders, today wouldn't be easy on any account, but he had to make it through the day.
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Zoya perched herself on a desk "So, this teacher, what is he like?"
Leyanna giggled "Hot and hot headed, pretty sure he hates us all, you were better off staying in India, you made a mistake coming to Seattle, no one will make your life harder than our professor".
Naturally, she imagined her new lecturer to be an older guy who had a few handsome features, but nothing too extravagant, so when a thirty something man made his way to the front of the class, pulled off his blazer and undid the first three buttons of his shirt, she let out an audible gasp, he was by far nothing like she expected.
"There are seats for a reason" he hadn't even looked her way, but it was clear who he was speaking to.
Jumping up, she moved to the seat on the opposite side of the class, sadly meaning she had to cross his path once more, she hoped by dropping her head he wouldn't ask any questions, but she was out of luck.
"Who are you anyway? I've never seen you in this class before" Aditya waited for her to turn to him, a shadow of a smirk remained on his face as he recognised her as the same woman from the bar, this would definitely make his job more enjoyable by far.
"My name is Zoya, transfer student from India".
"But you weren't born there, were you?" Not that he even needed to ask, her accent made it glaringly obvious, but he knew she was uncomfortable, and he loved to watch her squirm.
"I was born in England" she could feel the blush creep up her neck, but she wouldn't allow him to see she was ashamed, raising her head higher she looked at him sternly.
She had a delicate, swan like neck and it was suddenly all he could do to not go over there and wrap his hand around it, tensing his jaw he shooed her away with his hand and turned to the chalk board, he preferred things the old fashioned way so hadn't and wouldn't upgrade. "Your tester week is over, if you've made it this far then well done, don't settle because nothing gets easier, welcome to Investigative Journalism" turning back he smiled widely at the eager faces, those were the ones that wouldn't last long "What is rule number one?"
Many hands flew up, some slowly fell back down again upon meeting his steely gaze, in the end he pointed to the back-left corner "We should never put the public interest above violation of privacy?" he loved how timid she sounded.
"If this was any other class, you'd have been right, but in this class nothing and I mean nothing outweighs public interest, dedicate your life to a story if you have to and trust me you will, because the public must need to hear what you want to write, get out, you aren't right for this class".
Zoya flinched, he sure was hot headed and she was kind of glad she hadn't been the one to put her hand up, looking away as the woman ran out of the room crying, she opened up her laptop and began to take notes as he spoke, now she understood, he wasn't one of the most famous teachers for no reason, he ran a tight ship and it was crystal clear to her that many even drowned while trying to stay afloat.
I hope you're enjoying this so far, I know it's very different:)
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