Moments

Note: This is the first story I have ever written. I should also note that English is not my first language. Why I'm so obsessed with making Sybil and Tom modern, I have no idea. They feel very contemporary to me.

Reviews are very welcome of course.

1. What Just Happened?

Tom took a seat in the back of the class and slipped his coat onto the chair. Students started filing into the room and he felt himself reminded of his own days as a student at the Trinity College in Dublin. These young people here looked nice enough, but then it was his first presentation of the kind, and he seemed to remember quite clearly the fun he and his mates used to poke at whoever was standing in front of the class. It all seemed like ages ago now.

The last student had now taken his place and Professor Stein, the short white-haired scholar who had invited him to speak today, began his lecture. Ten minutes in, a loud bang against the door woke up half the class, as well as an embarrassed Tom, who had been dosing off himself.

He started at the noise when in burst a young woman, flushed red and snow flakes still melting into her black hair, who was carrying a bag and a heap of heavy books. "I'm so sorry, missed my train", she excused the disruption.

"That's fine, Miss Crawley, just take a seat", replied the professor with a kind smile. He seemed to like her. The girl nodded gratefully and hurried to a free seat in the back. On the way she caught her foot on somebody's backpack and the pile of books tumbled to the floor with another bang. "Shit, shit, shit, shit..." she muttered under her breath as she slid the strap of her bag off her shoulder and knelt down to collect her books.

Tom knew immediately that the gallant thing to do would be to pick them up for her. After all, he was only inches away from her, but he found himself frozen in his place, staring at the striking young women who was swearing on the floor.

She was wearing warm boots, a short denim skirt and thick black tights underneath. A scarf in all colours of the rainbow tumbled down over her grey winter coat. As she knelt, loose strands of her raven curls, which were swept up into a messy ponytail, fell into her eyes and caught in her long eyelashes. Irritated, she blew her fringe from her eyes, collected her books, and with a final bang, sat down on the chair in front of Tom. "Sorry", she repeated in a husky voice. The professor rolled his eyes at her, smirked and continued his lecture.

From his seat in the back, Tom could not stop staring at the dark-haired woman in front of him. Slightly to the side, he could see her profile and long eyelashes. She really was remarkably beautiful. Smooth ivory skin, unruly black hair, long slender neck...

When she suddenly whipped around, he felt like he'd been caught red-handed. He seemed to flush a deep crimson when she exclaimed: "What on earth..." His lips were dry. He opened his mouth to speak.

"That wasn't even the question", she went on. "What would've happened if the IRA hadn't split up into two camps is not the issue here. We should be more interested in what consequences it brought on. I thought this was "Political Ireland" and not "Speculation 101".

Tom heard a flustered huff from the student sitting next to him. What, thought Tom. She isn't speaking to me. He smiled relieved. And audible sigh escaped his lips. Just stop looking at her, eegit, he said to himself and kept his eyes trained on the desk in front of him.

"Miss Crawley, please don't eat poor Mr Walker alive back there. He was only offering his opinion", smirked Professor Stein. "Sorry", muttered the girl and smiled apologetically at the young man, Mr Walker apparently. Tom looked up from his desk and couldn't help grinning at her spirited outburst. Who'd understand better than him such passion for Ireland and politics?

When she turned around to face the front again, the girl's eyes caught Tom's wandering gaze. She stopped mid-turn, and the apologetic smile she had given her opponent sank from her eyes. As their gazes locked, he was struck for the first time by how intensely blue her eyes were. Bright blue, deep blue, brilliant blue, intently looking at his face. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. When a slight blush started to creep up to her smooth cheeks, she tore her gaze from his and turned around.

He could only see her back again, but it was different from before. She was aware of him now. Passionate as she had been, she did not offer another argument for the remainder of the lecture. Every now and then she tilted her head ever so slightly to the right, searching for only a peripheral glimpse of him.

Tom's heart fluttered. What had just happened? Had this beautiful, smart young woman noticed him? In the same way he had noticed her when she'd come in? Her eyes so blue, her gaze so intent. Had she been as struck by their short encounter as he had been? "... and so it is a great honour to present, all the way from Ireland, the editor of Politics for the Dublin Times, Mr Thomas Branson!"

Branson? Wait, that is my name. What? Oh, shite. The presentation! He jumped to his feet, confused still from the rollercoaster ride his mind had taken for the last fifteen minutes. In a daze he struggled to the front, passing her on the way.

"Welcome, and thank you for coming all the way from Dublin, Mr Branson", repeated Professor Stein and shook his hand. "Not at all, thank you for inviting me to speak", Tom managed to reply and his own Irish brogue felt foreign to him in this Yorkshire classroom. He swept strands of dark blond hair from his forehead. Those eyes. There she was, looking at him again, as intently as before. Only now did he take in her frame, her small figure, slight build, her delicate nose and sensual lips. Stop staring, eegit. Presentation time now, he reminded himself and shook himself out of his musings.

Tom began rattling off what he'd learned by heart in preparation for today. How he'd been a taxi driver to finance his studies, how hard he'd worked for his Political Science degree, how he'd come to write a weekly column on politics for a small independent paper, and how he'd eventually become the editor of the Politics section for the Dublin Times. And all the while, he felt her blue eyes upon him, burning into his.

Finally, his presentation was done. Now it was time for questions. "How to get into journalism?", "How well does it pay?", "Are there things you're not allowed to write about?" and so on and on. He answered them as best he could. But when he saw another hand up, her hand, he could not think what to say. He gulped but his throat seemed to him a desert.

"Yes, Miss Crawley has her hand up there, Mr Branson", the professor interrupted his little spell of panic. "Miss Crawley, please", he breathed. He found himself wondering what her first name was.

"Mr Branson, from your description I infer that you write about Ireland's current politics as well as issues of the past? Could you elaborate on that?" She had the most gorgeous husky quality to her voice. Again her stare made him weak in the knees and he was at a complete loss for words. How to answer accurately and impress her at the same time? Luckily - or was it unfortunately? – the professor interrupted at this precise moment.

"I'm afraid we don't have time for another question after all, our time is up. If you'd like to bring up your point again next week, Miss Crawley, we can discuss it in more detail. Everybody, give a big hand to Mr Branson for his insight into life as a political journalist."

As they all applauded, Tom tried to catch a glimpse of Miss Crawley, but Professor Stein was already drawing him into a discussion of the lecture. When the mob of students cleared, he could see her. She was still sitting at her desk, sorting out the load of books she'd dropped earlier. She raised her gaze to his and he thought he'd seen an imperceptible smile. A nod maybe? He wanted to go over to her, talk to her. Ask her name. But the professor kept on talking and talking, not noticing how distracted Tom was. Was she waiting for him? She might well have been, but when there seemed no end to the professor's comments on the lecture, she got up. Strategically balancing the books now, she left the room, but not without looking back at him once more with those hypnotic eyes.