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MidReal Story
My Professor Is My Ex
Scenario:I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me, aparently I'm not good enough in bed for him. So in return I kissed a stranger in front of him. that kiss had been on my mind all week long, it was like a drug. I thought I never would have seen him again but sadly he's my new profesor
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Alex
She is a student with a passion for literature and writing. She is creative, determined, and vulnerable. Alex discovers her boyfriend's infidelity and feels hurt, inadequacy, and anger. In response, she kisses a stranger on a whim, feeling a thrill that she hadn't experienced with her exboyfriend. This event haunts her as she starts a new chapter at university, facing awkward encounters with the stranger's brother, Caleb, who inadvertently reignites her memories of the passionate kiss.
Alex's Life
Asher
He is Caleb's brother who witnesses Alex kissing him in public. He is protective, perceptive, and charming. Asher feels embarrassed by the encounter but also shows concern for Alex's wellbeing by approaching her after class to ask how she's doing. His family connection to Caleb complicates matters as Alex navigates their shared history and attempts to move past the embarrassment of the public display.
I wasn’t supposed to be good enough for him.
Apparently, I wasn’t good enough in bed for my boyfriend, Jordan.
So when I found out he cheated on me, it didn’t exactly come as a shock.
What did shock me was the pain and humiliation I felt when I found out.
It was like a hot poker had been shoved through my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
I thought I’d handled it well.
I thought I’d proven to myself that I was strong and capable, but apparently, I was wrong.
Because instead of confronting Jordan and giving him a piece of my mind, I’d kissed a stranger.
And not just any stranger.
A tall, dark, sexy stranger who had been watching me from across the room.
I’d gone to him on impulse, leaned in, and pressed my lips to his.
And then I’d walked away.
It had been a week since that night, and all I could think about was that kiss.
I walk into the dimly lit bar and scan the faces of the people in the crowd.
My heart pounds in my chest as I look for him.
He’s not in his usual corner, but I make my way over to it anyway.
The bartender looks up at me and raises an eyebrow.
"Can I get you a drink?"
I nod, taking a seat on the stool.
"The same cocktail you had last week," I tell him.
He nods and turns to make my drink.
I watch as he expertly mixes the ingredients together, his hands moving quickly and efficiently.
When he hands me my drink, I take a sip and close my eyes.
It tastes just as good as it did last week.
I open my eyes and look around the bar again, hoping that he’ll show up soon.
But there’s no sign of him.
I sigh and take another sip of my drink.
Maybe he’s not coming tonight. Hours pass as I nurse my drink and watch the door.
Every time a tall figure walks in, my breath catches in my throat, but it’s never him.
The night wears on, and the crowd begins to thin out.
I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time, and see that it’s almost closing time.
Disappointment settles in my stomach as I gather my purse to leave.
But before I go, I pull out a napkin and write down my number on it.
Then I hand it to the bartender with a smile.
"Can you give this to the guy who sits in that corner every week?"
I ask him.
The bartender looks at me for a long moment, then nods.
"Sure," he says.
I nod and turn to leave, but as I reach the door, I hear the bartender call out to me.
"Wait," he says.
I turn back around and see him wiping down the counter with a dirty rag.
He glances up at me, then slides a folded cocktail napkin across the bar to me.
"He left something for you," he says casually, as if it’s no big deal.
My heart pounds in my chest as his words sink in.
With trembling fingers, I reach for the napkin.
The bartender busies himself wiping down glasses, pretending not to notice my hesitation.
The paper feels rough against my skin as I carefully unfold it, trying not to tear the delicate material.
My breath catches when I see the messy handwriting sprawled across the white surface.
The ink has bled slightly into the napkin's fibers, making the words appear soft and intimate.
Time seems to slow as I focus on each letter, each number.
I lean against the bar, squinting at the napkin under the dim lights.
The message is brief, but it holds a world of meaning within its few words.
"Where books sleep and coffee flows, 8 PM tomorrow."
My fingers trace the words, feeling the slight indentations left by the pen.
The phrase "where books sleep" is a clear reference to a small bookstore café near campus, a place I often visit to escape reality.
But what does it mean?
Is this an invitation to meet him there?
The bartender glances over at me, and I quickly fold the napkin back up, tucking it into my jacket pocket.
The weight of it feels significant, like a secret I need to protect from prying eyes.
I check my phone for the time, and my heart skips a beat when I see that it's already past midnight.
Tomorrow has begun, and with it, a new set of possibilities. As I gather my things to leave, my mind races with scenarios and questions.
Just as I reach the door, the bartender calls out again, "You know he’s been waiting for this moment too, right?"
I pause, turning back to him with a puzzled expression.
"He told me he’s been coming here every week hoping you’d show up," the bartender adds with a knowing smile.