It was the fifth- no sixth time that Clara had reviewed her lecture notes for the day. Not that there was a lot to lecture about given that it was the first day of classes. No introduction to Dickens' works or Wilde's for that matter, no in depth discussions about the autobiographical nature of fiction or the politically charged commentary of some of the finest works…

Really, she shouldn't even be stressing. It was 8:25 am so there was a little more than half an hour before students would flood the lecture hall. She still had plenty of prep time, not that she needed any. She could recite the curriculum in her sleep by now and she had never been afraid of speaking in front of an audience.

Clara's hand subconsciously moved to her pile of course outlines, brushing against the words on the page. "Clara Oswald – Associate Professor" Reading the title still made her heart swell in pride. It had been rewarding to move up in the ranks despite the fierce competition. But she had a knack for persuasion and her passion for English literature really did propel her forward in her career. Although to be fair, it might also have something to do with the retirement of the past professor for the course she was now teaching.

Teaching wasn't new to her; she had been a teaching assistant throughout her studies. But lecturing to an entire hall of students was a different experience altogether. Taking a deep breath, she started to skim her notes again; it couldn't hurt to be over prepared after all. Yet she had barely passed the introduction when the sound of the doors opening caught her attention.

Looking up, she furrowed her brows at the newcomer. A student? No, he couldn't be, he looked too old to be taking this class which was meant for third years. Besides, it was still 8:40. Class wouldn't start for another twenty minutes.

He wasn't a caretaker either; he wasn't wearing the orange uniform. No, he was decked in a dark navy coat, a flash of red showing from the inner seams of his coat as he walked. She caught his eyes as he walked towards a seat near the front and she sent a sheepish look towards him. Oh God, she had been staring too intently at him, hadn't she?

Yet it didn't seem to faze him. If anything, he smirked back at her as he took a seat in the front row. He was sitting directly towards her now but hasn't spoken a word. It was eerie silent as the clock ticked away and she looked away from him and went back to her papers.

Should she say something? She could comment about his lack of a bag, was he that confident that he could remember everything she was going to say?, but before she could even open her mouth, another pair of students walked in. They were proper students, joking and jibing at each other and looking far younger than the older man seated in front of her. Clara heard a passing comment about Austen, reassuring her that she was in the right lecture hall.

Maybe he was a mature student. It was fairly uncommon but it wasn't unheard of. Many did end up going back to get some additional schooling. Learn something new to match wits with the youngsters.

Unless of course, he was actually an auditor to see how well she taught. The thought of being examined deeply unsettled her. The knowing look that the man was giving her from the corner of her eye made it even more suspicious.

Clara had no idea who he was. But she didn't have much time to think on the situation when students slowly began to trickle in as the time approached. There were a few students who were sitting in the front who were giving her some looks but she ignored them in favor of smiling warmly at some of the shyer students who walked in. She didn't need to give them her attention. Yet she couldn't help but look towards the front row at a few times, sneaking passing glances at him. He looked bored and unlike the rest of the students making conservation, he seemed to be in his own world. Lost in space.

9:00 signalled the beginning of class. With a sharp cough to catch everyone's attention, Clara began. The sea of students looked intimidating now that she was aware that everyone was looking straight at her. But it gave her a jolt of adrenaline, enough for her to smile and begin.

"Welcome to 19th Century British Literature. I hope you're for a ride."

An hour seemed to pass by in a blink of an eye and after quoting a line as encouragement to her students, the students slowly began to dissipate from the classroom. With a breath of relief that she hadn't messed up, she began to tidy off.

"The answers you get from literature depend on the questions you pose."

The Scottish accent startled her as she lifted her head, trying to find the source of the voice. Sure enough, it was the older man. He was still seated, tapping his finger against the table.

"Margaret Atwood. Canadian. Interesting, I thought this was a course in British literature."

Clara took a momentarily pause to process his words. It completely caught her off-guard. Quickly recovering, she shrugged her shoulders almost nonchalantly. "Well, I appreciate a good line, regardless of who said it. And it could encourage the shy ones to ask more questions. Maybe even you."

He raised an eyebrow and Clara was astonished at how expressive they were. "Perhaps I will," He replied back as he stood up from his seat, brushing the sides of his coat back to reveal the red. "I'll see you in two days, Dr. Oswald." Two days until her next class when they were going to begin The Picture of Dorian Grey, Clara realized. Not that long until classes really began and she'll see him again.

"Wait!" Clara's mouth moved before she could think. "What's your name?"

The man paused for a moment on his way out, turning his head slightly to one side to reply. "The Doctor. Just the Doctor."