A/N: alright I'm back! :D This is one of the options from my poll, so those of you who chose this, you're obliged to review. heh.

I started off with a flippant, humourous-ish style, but it didn't seem right for a student pining for her professor to be like that. so now I've ended up contemplative, even slightly angsty. Wow, I've never tried those before, so do tell me what you think about this!

(oh, and the lady in the story? I couldn't make it too obvious, but it's intended to be Marion. yup)

Review after reading, please!

She hitches her school satchel securely over her shoulder, walking down the hallway, and smiles confidently as she notices a well-meaning professor from the opposite room stare quizzically at her. Darn. She continues at her usual pace, striding down the narrow corridor, careful to keep her broad smile on convincingly, going past that familiar window ledge without as much as a second glance. Then, ducking behind what she found was a very conveniently situated potted plant, she waits impatiently as the wizened librarian ambled past, then tears to the window, raises it, steps over it, closes it down, careful not to catch her finger in it like last time (a very unfortunate situation involving a lot of high-pitched shrieks of pain from her, concerned professors fussing over her, and the certain professor of her attraction looking intently and shrewdly at her as she babbled on nervously about suicide attempts. Something she definitely preferred not to experience again) and ducks to the side, all with a practiced ease.

She exhales with relief, then settles down comfortably, her legs crossed, in her usual spot.

She could see directly into the building perpendicular to it, the one for professors of the humanities, and most importantly, she has a clear, unobstructed view through the tinted windows of the office that belonged to Prof. Henry Jones, Jr, of Advanced Archaelogy.

Of course there was always that little blind spot directly below the window, but if she stood up, and pressed herself against the window, she would see fine. But then he would see her too, of course, and it was rather high up, so she preferred not to do that. Besides, she couldn't have everything. At least this was better than hiding behind his curtains in the office, which had escalated into dreadfully embarrassing proportions when she had been locked in. Ugh.

She glances at her watch in anticipation. According to the latest timetable as of the week before, he would now be addressing a class (Advanced Archaelogy, of course) consisting of 34 of the best Year 4 humanities students, in Block F, 3rd Floor, 4th classroom from the right. And in two minutes he would be heading back here, as he always had for all of 3 years, perhaps even more.

She sighs. She had refused to let Anthea tag along, who had pleaded, eyes glinting, 'I want to be a journalist when I grow up, you know, this would be great practice!' but she had very vehemently rejected, and flounced off huffily. At least that bimbo had no idea where she actually was. For one, she loathed that despicable creature. She certainly had better friends that would stick with her, go crazy over Jones together, but not insist on accompanying her on her personal ritual. Secondly, she was NOT a journalist in that sense. More of a paparazzi, perhaps, or one of the crazed fans. Honestly, that girl was ridiculous. And thirdly, although it pained her to admit it, Anthea was much more attractive than her, and certainly a lot less conservative, to say the least. Hmpph.

And no way was Anthea going to take her place in Jones' heart! She had elaborate fantasies about him; she wished so, so fervently that they had met under different circumstances, then he would ask her out, with that trademark grin of his, and she would spend ages preparing and look absolutely ravishing, and he would be shocked, and say her name in a way that made it sound so precious, so exotic, so special, and he would give her a chaste kiss at her doorstep before leaving, wrapping his arms around her briefly, and she would stare after him, her heart pounding heavily, wanting so much more, and he would propose with a family heirloom on valentine's day at a fancy restaurant, preferably French, and they would have a lovely huge party, and wedding night—she giggles shyly—and they would go all over Europe for a year-long honeymoon, and all the girls would stare at her enviously, and they would have two absolutely adorable and intelligent little kids named-

She sighs contentedly, watching idly as students strolled around in groups below her, chattering, oblivious to her presence. Tomorrow she would have a lesson with him—first block of the day too. A good start to the day, for sure.

How could a man be so flawless, so perfect, like him? What with his tall, strong build, handsome chiselled features: that hard jaw, those dark, deep, brown eyes that expressed so much, and oh! those lips, the object of almost every normal female student's dreams…as he spoke in class, she often found herself distracted, mesmerized by his lips, and—she had to admit it—had imagined it meeting hers in an ardent kiss, more than once. Well, more than 10 times. Actually, almost every waking moment. And he had this charm to him-the way his eyes would twinkle, and he would smile, and speak in that low, smooth voice of his...

And his intellect! He lectured with a natural ease well not that she actually listened, but it was pretty obvious, and how he could answer almost every question they threw at him so smoothly, it became sort of like a challenge for a while, and they would give him the hardest questions they could think of. And she had no idea how many languages she knew, but she knew she would be impressed. Most definitely.

How on earth was it possible for someone to be so charming, so good-looking, so learned, so intelligent, all at the same time! I bet millions of people are living as losers because of him!

And why, oh why, was she so unlucky to be a student of his, 10 years younger, just a student?

(though of course age was hardly important in the grand scheme of things. Just a few digits, no big deal.)

She sits up suddenly, craning her neck forward, as the door to his office opens. With anticipation weighing down on her, she watches intently as someone enters—but it is not who she expects. Her heart constricts as she stares at the lady, dressed elegantly in a simple dress, with heels on her long legs, accentuating her calves, laughing with Prof Jones as he holds the door open for her, with a grand flourish. She is pretty, very pretty, with dark hair to her shoulders, large round eyes-she isn't sure from the distance, but they seem brown or black-and a petite figure. Prof Jones closes the door, his arm brushing casually around her hip.

She finds she can't tear her eyes away as they kiss, his arm cradling the small of her back, her arm snaking around his waist, leaning into his chest. She had never seen him with another woman before—in fact, she remembered a time when they questioned his sexual orientation (and she had commented it would be such a pity if he was gay, to the agreement of all the females). Her heart aches, but somehow, there is no anger. There is only acceptance, resignation.

She had been in love with him for 3 years; it had been 3 years since she had stepped into campus, rushing around in a blur and ran headlong into him, her files and papers flying all around her. He was in a shirt and tie, and apologized repeatedly, bending down with her to gather them. She felt herself fall for him then, and when she asked what class he was in, and he grinned, 'I'm a professor for Advanced Archaelogy', she found it didn't matter, not at all. Then he rushed off, and so did she…to the board outside the staffroom, to sign up for Advanced Archaelogy students for year 3 students, as taught and designed by a Professor Henry Jones Jr.

The lady smiles up at him as they part, and he grins warmly back. She wants so badly to be in that position, to have him kiss her with the same intensity, wrap his arms around her, gaze at her with such affection. Prof Jones seemed to be in love, and it wasn't fair! It had been 3 years. And now he had found someone to fill up that place.

She focuses her attention back on them, goes as near to the window as she dares. Why did this girl work with him; what made her deserve it any more than her? Did she even, in the first place? They seem to be bantering, teasing playfully, as he backs her into the shelves of books, and the girl flushes and looks down for a moment. He laughs, and presses his lips to hers again.

She wants to see him. She wants to see him, alone; not on some lunchtime rendezvous with some girl.

This obviously isn't the first time they met, though; neither does it seem like some sort of fling, or friends-with-benefits. (however much she likes to think he's not that kind of guy, but go figure really, with all the girls throwing themselves at him he would be spoilt for choice) they seem so comfortable with each other, their bodies seem to know where to go, where to fit, as they kiss. Was she a childhood friend? Ex-lover? College sweetheart? Or was he just always like this with every girl?

She clutches her satchel to her, determinedly averting her eyes. They wouldn't start making out or something, she knows, but watching them—when they had such intimacy—and this was Prof Jones they were talking about—it was just heartbreaking. She tucks her hair behind her ears thoughtfully, trying to distract herself. Prof Jones had issued a paper due the next day, ages ago, but she hasn't even started! She groans inwardly at the thought. And her parents would be hovering over her, like relentless flies she couldn't swat away. They had wanted her to take law; she was captain of the university's debate team, and she knew, deep down, her real interest wasn't in archaeology. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do that. Even as her gpa suffered because of her 3.2, she couldn't bear the thought of not seeing him again, not gazing him for a whole hour with wild abandon.

She glances back, they are standing at the window, talking in low voice, it seems, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head leaning into his chest. They look so sweet, so happy together, and she feels her heart swell with bitter, bitter envy.

She looks away.

She had been determined to excel in his class at first, had bounced into class, bright and eager to learn, not because of her grades, however: she wanted to let him notice her, stand out, earn his respect. She jotted notes diligently, read up, spent hours on extra-credit assignments, and basked in his praise and approving smiles. But she got tired. All her classmates were batting their eyelids at him, raising their skirts just a tiny modicum higher, and sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't. She couldn't concentrate. She can't keep her heart from pounding, her breath from quickening, as he walked past, leaving behind a sharp whiff of his cologne; she couldn't keep her focus on what he was saying, how could she, really, his lips were so much more delectable?

And then there had been what everyone referred to as 'the Eyelid Incident'. Somehow word had gotten out, and she was either worshipped or scorned by the rest, and she had the sneaking suspicion the other professors were giving Prof Jones hell about that as well, judging from his pained look when the topic was brought up. It had been done during a sleepover, at Sherry's house, and she had written it on as a joke. They had laughed hysterically as she batted her eyes, in rehearsal for that crucial moment, but inwardly she was pleased, very pleased. She was finally letting her true intentions be known, and she thought she did it quite well, really! But he just blinked, stunned, then proceeded on, looking slightly bemused and exasperated. She had looked down, chagrined—why, if only he had swept her up in his arms, and dismissed the class for the day, why, if only he had smirked, and caught up with her after school, and they would make out in his office, why, if only he had grinned, and replied, 'Why, Cassandra, I love you too.', and kiss her passionately in front of everyone, why, if only, if only!

Her parents were livid though. She winces at the memory. They criticised her for her foolishness, naivety, criticised him, but she fended them off, staunch in her defence of him. No one could get off with insulting them like that! Debating skills really came in useful in times like that.

She peers in again, they are sitting at the window ledge, talking. She stares at the lady critically. She was alright, decent-looking, but there was a lack of grace and elegance to her. The way she threw her head back to laugh, the day she strode across his office, the way she dressed. But then again, maybe that was what appealed to Prof Jones. Perhaps she ought to have a makeover. Hmm. Certainly something to consider.

After all, she had heard of his adventures, everyone had. His absences had been excruciating agony; how was she to fantasize about that wrinkled old prune of a relief teacher who droned on and on in the stuffy classroom? they only served to enhance his charm; it was rather comical to see her friends lamenting how Prof Jones left them dateless. She had imagined running along with him, hand in hand, tripping over twines and tree trunks, fuelled by pure adrenaline and fear; she had imagined him saving her, risking his life, to grab her hand, pull her back; she had imagined them riding away on horseback into sunset, conversing casually; she had imagined the heroic save, the kiss among the rubble. She wonders idly if this lady had gone through all that too. How had they met? Rumours were rife about him, his various girlfriends, how they met. People were betting when this would end, but she knew, somehow she knew, that it would last.

She bites her lip. Why couldn't she get him? She was remarkably pretty, people's words and a few dozen requests for dates were pretty much testament to that, but that was it. She was alright in the academic sense. But she suspects it takes a lot more than that to attract him. Why, she thinks cynically, there're sure to be lots of gorgeous girls flirting, giggling, ogling him. Even here, he had his own fan group consisting of almost the entire female population, was continuously voted favourite male teacher, well, most people voted for him in pretty much every category, excluding, of course, most feminist and most avid water drinker. And of course there was his office. Crowded, full of girls waving their assignments, pitiful excuses to see him. She prefers her nice spot up here, thank you very much.

She had been like that once though. She blushes. It was Valentine's Day, and she had snuck off after class to leave flowers and chocolate in his pigeon hole. He had been impassive, and she was coy, and bubbling with excitement as she followed him into his office. But he turned to face her, and sat at the edge of his desk, sighing.

'Look, I don't want this.' He said quietly. 'I don't teach to have girls thronging after me, I don't teach for chocolates or flowers. And I want to teach you, Cassandra, about archaeology, only if you're interested. Nothing is going to happen, I suggest you stop wasting both of our time, and quit my class if you have no passion for it.'

But I have passion for you. She had blushed heavily, and hurried out, humiliated.

But then as she thought about it, all she remember was his concerned face, how he was so tactful: he never mentioned anything about crushes, or love! He didn't even say the word 'like'. She marvelled at it; she definitely couldn't omit the words Prof Jones from anything she said, that's for sure.

And she was undeterred. She continued giving presents the next 2 years.

She keeps her eyes on them, as he rubs her palm gently, idly, as they speak. It strikes her, that it is possible, extremely possible, that he would spend his entire life with this woman. She didn't know why, but she seems…different. Special, to him. She thinks she will despair, be dreadfully depressed, but to her surprise she is numb. It had been 3 years, and all along her devotion had been unrequited. To tell the truth, she had never really expected her love to be returned. And all along, she has been watching him, and she feels she knows him. No matter how cheesy it sounds, she knows she wants him to find happiness for himself, and if it came in the form of this lady, so be it.

They pause, and kiss, smiling into each others' lips. She cannot bear it any longer, and turns, as the tears fall.

She knows she can only watch him from afar; she had known all along.

The next block is starting; the bell resonates across the school campus. She can imagine him parting, saying goodbye. She climbs over the ledge calmly, resolutely brushing at her eyes, and walks away slowly, without looking back.

And she knew, regardless of all she had witnessed and all she knew, that she would be back, the next day at lunch, to watch once again, from afar.

How was it how was it? I rather liked it, but I'm dying to know what all of you thought, so you know what to do!

(I mean to REVIEW, by the way. just in case you didn't get my very subtle message :D )