Chapter 1 Aurora's POV

"Certain animals, like snakes and spiders, have killed a lot of people throughout human history. Some experts believe that men and women may have evolved to carry a fear of them because doing so offered a survival advantage," I say, eyes scanning the lecture hall. "According to some research, it's easier to instill fear of snakes and spiders, even in people who don't have phobias, than it is to make them afraid of dogs or other 'friendly' animals."

I pause briefly. "Fear and anxiety, though not pleasant, are essential for keeping us safe. If the dog down the street bites you, the fear that follows helps you avoid getting bitten again. But what if that reaction becomes excessive? What if you start to fear all dogs, not just the one that bit you? That kind of overgeneralization can severely impact your behavior, making fear more harmful than protective."

I glance at my wristwatch.

"Shmuel Lissek, PhD, an associate professor of psychology in the Faculty of Liberal Arts, is particularly interested in this phenomenon, how anxiety changes our behavior even when there's no real threat. Lissek is the director of the ANGST Lab, Anxiety Neuroscience Grounded in cross-Species Translation. His team studies how anxiety affects learning, memory, and decision-making in humans. Their work sheds light on how to treat anxiety disorders, including PTSD, and helps identify where emotions like fear and anxiety 'live' in the brain."

I look up at my students, many already scribbling notes. "Here's what needs to be done. Write a seminar paper, no less than twenty-five pages, adequately referenced, on the relationship between fear and psychology. Can it be severed? Dazzle me. Class dismissed."

I smile, watching them pack up and leave.

It's rare to see a professor as young as I am. I'm aware of my privileges, and grateful, but right now, all I want is to collapse onto my bed. I shut my laptop and gather my books. I mean, it's me; I can't go anywhere without a novel.

My phone rings, and I grin. "Hey, baby."

At twenty-eight, I'm supposed to be married, at least according to where I'm from. One of the many reasons I love New York: freedom. Here, I can live how I want. I'm successful, accomplished, and in love. What more could I ask for?

"Aurora," Cyprus says, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice. "Still at work?"

"Just finished my last class. You?" I ask, swinging my bag over my shoulder as I leave the lecture hall.

"On my way to the airport."

I stop walking. "Where are you going? We had plans tonight."

"I'm sorry, baby. It's Mom. Her illness is flaring up again, and no one's with her. If I leave now, I should get there by midnight."

I sigh. "It's alright, Cyprus. I keep telling you to bring her to New York. Let her stay with you instead of flying to Romania twice a month."

"She's stubborn. Doesn't want to leave home. Thank you for understanding, Rora. I can't wait for you to meet her."

"I can't wait either. Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you too. Safe flight."

I end the call, a little disappointed, but I love that he loves his mom.

Cyprus and I met five years ago in Italy. I was on vacation and bumped into him, literally, my head buried in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. In my defense, I was completely enchanted. Then I looked up and saw him. It was love at first sight. We've been inseparable since.

It took a while for him to open up. It wasn't hard to guess he had some unresolved childhood trauma and psychological baggage, but I stood by him. I helped him heal.

One of the first things I noticed about him were his eyes, unnaturally yellow, hauntingly beautiful. I was in the middle of my PhD, stressed, depressed, and completely burnt out.

My best friend Zoe and I took a spontaneous trip to Italy, spending all our savings on luxury hotels, boat cruises, and expensive wine. That year was wild, impulsive, one of the best of my life.

Meeting Cyprus changed everything.

We've been together for almost five years, well, four years and nine months. Zoe didn't like him at first, and the feeling was mutual. It took time and effort to bring them together, but now they're close. They even planned my last surprise birthday together, a trip to Mali, where I met my favorite author.

Sometimes, I wonder when Cyprus will propose. Not because I'm desperate to get married, but because it feels right. We've built something strong. Still, I'm happy going at his pace. I have goals to achieve, a life to live.

Being a professor wasn't my original plan. I wanted to be a singer, an artist who touches lives with her voice. Life had other ideas. I still sing, just not on stage. Over time, I've grown to love teaching psychology. But I'm not done. I'm aiming to be Dean someday. I have time and ambition on my side.

In ten years, I want to be married to Cyprus, with two kids. He'll be partner at his firm. Zoe will be a head chef. My life will be complete.

I smile at my reflection in the rearview mirror, ignoring the familiar ache in my chest. That emptiness I pretend isn't there.

---

"Girl, he ordered a breadless breadstick. My mouth was wide open," Zoe says, and I burst into laughter.

Zoe is a chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Los Angeles. She graduated from culinary school while I was getting my master's.

We met nine years ago, in our UCLA apartment. I had transferred the year before and couldn't afford to live alone, so I posted an ad for a roommate. She showed up looking just as lost and homesick as I felt. That was the beginning.

She was twenty-three, I was twenty. We became inseparable. She taught me the art of reckless living; I taught her balance and drive. We once got matching tattoos on our thighs and pulled all-nighters reading books. She was my personal chef, and I, her critic. I was her therapist; she was my patient. We found equilibrium in each other.

Then Cyprus came along, and I gave both of them my whole heart. They became my world.

"Breadless breadstick!" I repeat, laughing.

"Exactly! These posh assholes be making up fake fancy shit." She grins, her dark skin glowing.

"You complain every day, but you show up every morning."

"And Cyprus leaves without warning and you still love him. We love what we love."

I smile, nodding. "Tell me about Connor. How was the date?"

Zoe has never had a stable relationship. Sometimes I worry she feels left out, so I set her up every chance I get.

"I tapped that ass," she says, mouth full of her special spaghetti.

I grin.

"He was charming and all. Opened the car door for me. But I told you, B, I'm in love with someone else."

I drop my spoon, annoyed. "And you still won't tell me who he is!"

She shrugs. "We all have our secrets. He's mine."

"Come on, give me something."

She sighs and finally relents. "He's the best in bed. Knows my body better than I do. He speaks to me, even from miles away. I don't believe in soulmates. I believe in something bigger than that. And he's it."

I swoon a little, ignoring the tight pull in my chest.

"That's beaut-"

My phone rings. I glance at the screen and frown. Dread coils in my stomach.

It's my dad.

"Excuse me, my love. I have to take this," I say, heading to my bedroom.

"Daddy," I answer.

"Daughter!" he says, full of cheer, and I exhale in relief.

"Hi." I smile. "How's Mom?"

"She's here. She wants to speak to you."

"Adaline, come home," she says, and I freeze.

"Is something wrong?"

She laughs softly. "No, Adaline. It's our anniversary next Saturday. This year, I don't want a delivered gift or a video call. I want my daughter-my only child."

"I miss you, Mom. But I haven't been home in almost ten years. I left for a reason."

"I'm not asking you to come back permanently. Just visit your mother. Am I not enough reason?"

I roll my eyes. "Enough with the guilt trip, Mom."

"Excellent. I'll see you Wednesday. Bring me a huge cake. Your dad wants a baseball hat. Love you, bye!"

She hangs up before I can respond.

I groan in frustration.

I don't want to go back.

I don't want to go home.

But it's been eight years. I don't want to see him.

Maybe it's time to return to New Orleans.

Just for a week.