Gregory felt his courage falter when he realized the girl was a full twelve years younger than him. He was thirty; she was barely eighteen. Yes, she was legally an adult—technically, it wasn’t a crime to so much as glance in her direction—but the age gap still made him uneasy. And to top it off, she was a student, here to learn from him. No matter how you looked at it, it felt awkward, improper, downright indecent.
What on earth could he possibly offer her, this girl who had mysteriously burst into his life? He was supposed to be teaching her engineering, drilling her on mineral deposits, marking her exams, reviewing her notes—not losing himself in the burnished copper of her hair or the startling malachite-green of her eyes.
But the real mystery was this: he’d seen Nina before she ever set foot in the college where he’d been lecturing for the past five years. Two months before she enrolled, he’d caught sight of her through a tram window, standing among a crowd of passengers, squinting in the sunlight. And in that moment, a thought had struck him like a bolt: *I wish I could meet someone like her.*
It was the spring of 1957. The whole country buzzed with the promise of a bright future, stirred by scientific progress and dreams of space travel, deep-sea exploration, and distant horizons. Gregory’s heart, meanwhile, had fixated on the girl at the tram stop. Suddenly, titles like *professor* and *specialist* meant nothing—he was just a man, hopelessly smitten.
*I wish I could meet someone like her*, he’d catch himself thinking, before shaking off the fantasy and scolding himself for this ridiculous, one-sided infatuation.
***
But fate, it seemed, had other plans. That *someone like her* turned out to be fiercely clever, stubborn, and—as he’d soon learn—unafraid to sink her teeth into any challenge. Of all places, she’d chosen to enroll in a grueling engineering program at his college—hardly the usual path for a young woman back then. Gregory’s peace of mind evaporated the moment she walked into his classroom as one of his students. Now she had a name: Nina. Eighteen years old, bursting with energy, soaking up every lesson like she’d been starved of knowledge her whole life.
To her, he was merely *Mr. Thompson, the lecturer*—but at least she was no longer just a mirage. She was right there, real and alive.
Gregory refused to abuse his position to get closer to her. In fact, he watched from a distance, studying her, determined to see past his own romanticized version of her. Who was she, really? He observed her in lectures, in conversations with classmates—anywhere he could glimpse the real Nina, not just the girl who’d haunted his imagination. Personal interactions were rare; propriety kept him at arm’s length. No coffee dates, no museum visits, no strolling through the park. He could only teach.
But as her tutor, he *could* organize group outings. The realization hit him like a flash of inspiration—and he nearly ran out in the middle of the night to buy cinema tickets. He barely slept, and by morning, he’d purchased twenty-five seats—enough for the entire class. The college certainly wouldn’t fund such frivolities, so Gregory paid out of his own pocket. Soon, he was dragging his students everywhere—the symphony, the theatre, the pictures. His excuse? Cultural enrichment. The real reason? A hopeless attempt to spend time with Nina without crossing a line. Ironically, it worked *too* well—his students adored him. He was the kind of tutor who actually *cared*.
With everyone, that is, except Nina. He treaded carefully around her.
Because once, just *once*, he’d tried to talk to her properly—and it had gone disastrously wrong.
***
It started with a simple chore. Nina and her friend Lucy had been assigned to tidy the lecture hall—dust the desks, file away materials, that sort of thing. But Lucy was in a hurry, so Nina stayed behind alone. She didn’t mind. The quiet suited her. Humming to herself, she straightened chairs, wiped down surfaces, lost in her own little world.
She had a lovely voice—clear, bright, shimmering like something out of a fairy tale. Not that she knew anyone was listening.
Gregory, passing by the open door, froze mid-step. That voice—where had he heard it before? It was *good*. Scarily good. *Does she sing in the college choir?* he wondered, then barged in awkwardly, the creaky door betraying his entrance.
The singing stopped. Emerald eyes widened in alarm. Nina flushed crimson, grabbed the nearest textbook, and crammed herself into a desk, pretending she hadn’t been doing anything but studying. Gregory, equally flustered, pretended to rummage through the lectern drawers for something important.
“Ah! Here’s that handout!” he declared, snatching a random pamphlet off the shelf.
A feeble performance, but it bought him time. He flipped through the pages, desperately searching for something—*anything*—to say. Silence stretched between them. Nina kept her eyes glued to the book, praying he wouldn’t mention the singing.
“Nina, you must be exhausted,” he blurted. “Why aren’t you heading home?”
“I… will. Soon,” she mumbled.
“Nina, tell me—why did you choose engineering? It’s an unusual path for a woman, don’t you think?”
She blinked. “There aren’t many other colleges here.”
“Well, there’s the culinary school—” The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
“*Culinary school?*” Her eyes flashed, then she caught herself. “I mean—there aren’t many *serious* options.”
“Commendable, commendable. Though… have you considered music school?” He took a breath. “I overheard—you have a wonderful singing voice.”
Her face fell. “They wouldn’t take me.”
“Wouldn’t take you? How? Was the admissions panel *deaf*?”
“Excuse me, I should go.” She snapped the book shut and bolted.
“Goodbye,” he called after her, then winced.
He’d upset her—badly. Had he pried too much? Had she guessed his feelings weren’t strictly professional? Worse—had she realized they were downright *romantic*? He’d been an idiot. Now he’d have to be twice as careful.
***
Gregory found himself unexpectedly invested in the college choir. He’d never paid it much mind before, but now he *had* to know—did Nina sing with them? If not, she *should*. That voice deserved an audience. Feigning professional interest, he approached the music tutor, Mrs. Whitaker, under the guise of organizing a holiday performance. His students, he claimed, wanted to prepare a song. And one of them—*ahem*—had a truly exceptional voice.
Mrs. Whitaker was baffled. Not a single student from Gregory’s class had ever joined the choir. She’d certainly never heard of this so-called golden voice.
“Wait… Nina Carter?” Gregory pressed.
“If she can sing, she’s never sung *here*,” Mrs. Whitaker said. “Bring her along. Let’s hear her.”
***
Gregory was stumped. Nina claimed she’d been rejected from music school—yet sang like a dream. He wasn’t a musician, but even he could recognize raw talent. Applied—rejected. Sang alone—never joined the choir. Something didn’t add up.
He cautiously broached the subject with Lucy, Nina’s outspoken friend. She didn’t hesitate.
“*What?* You didn’t know?” Lucy dropped her voice. “Nina’s… practically deaf.”
“*Deaf?*” The word hit him like a bucket of ice water.
“One ear’s completely gone. The other—just a bit of hearing left.”
“But—we’ve *talked*. And she *sings*! How?”
“She *can* hear a little. And she reads lips. Watch—she always looks at your mouth when you speak.”
Of *course*. Those emerald eyes locked onto his weren’t just because of some romantic daydream—Nina was trying to *understand* him. No wonder she’d flinched when he joked about *deaf admissions panels*. What a colossal fool he’d been.
But despair quickly gave way to determination. If Nina wanted to sing—and he *knew* she did—he’d help her. He returned to Mrs. Whitaker, explained the situation, and, after some hesitation, she agreed to give Nina a chance.
Still, getting Nina alone was impossible. So, just like always, he invited the *entire* class to prepare a musical number. Their song of choice? *Moscow Nights*—the nationwide hit everyone was humming that year.
And then—magic. Nina, compensating for her hearing, sang louder than anyone. And for the first time, the whole room truly *heard* her. Gregory watched, heart swelling, as she smiled through rehearsals, then beamedA year later, long after graduation, when Gregory finally confessed his feelings, Nina simply laughed and said she’d known all along—because some things, like love, don’t need perfect hearing to be understood.
