Gregory felt a pang of unease when he discovered the girl was twelve years younger than him. He was thirty; she had just turned eighteen. Legally, she was an adult—he could at least look her way—but the age gap unsettled him. On top of that, she was a student in his class. No matter how you looked at it, it felt improper, even unseemly.
What could he possibly offer someone like her, this girl who had mysteriously swept into his life? He was supposed to teach her, lecture on mineral deposits, grade her exams—not dwell on the coppery glint of her hair or the striking emerald green of her eyes.
Yet there was something uncanny about it all. He had seen Nina before she became a student at the technical college where he’d taught for five years. Two months before her enrollment, from the window of a tram, his gaze had snagged on a petite beauty squinting against the sunlight. A jolt had run through him then: *If only I could meet someone like her.*
It was the vibrant spring of 1957, a time when the whole country buzzed with anticipation for a brighter future. Scientific progress flourished under the watchful eyes of visionary writers. Humanity reached for the stars, the ocean depths, the farthest corners of the earth—and at that moment, Gregory’s heart raced toward the stranger at the tram stop. Suddenly, he forgot he was a professor, a specialist. He was just a man, timidly dreaming of happiness.
*If only I could meet her.* The thought haunted him, though he scolded himself for romanticizing a fleeting image.
***
Yet happiness found him anyway—stubborn, sharp-witted, and fearless. Who would have thought she’d enroll in a *men’s* technical college, of all places, pursuing such a demanding field? Gregory lost his peace of mind when the stranger from the tram appeared in his class—now with a name. *Nina.* Just eighteen, with boundless enthusiasm, as if starved for education. Though she saw him only as distant Professor Gregory Whitmore, at least she was near him now—real, alive, not some phantom.
He refused to exploit his position to get closer. Instead, he observed, determined to see beyond the fantasy. *What kind of person is she?* He studied her in lectures, in conversations with classmates, but kept personal interactions rare. The gulf between teacher and student bound him. No cinema trips, no strolls in the park, no museum visits—only lessons.
Yet as her tutor, he *could* organize outings—for the entire class. The realization struck like lightning. He nearly dashed out for cinema tickets that very night! The next morning, he bought twenty-five—one for every student. The college would never fund such frivolities, so he paid from his own pocket. Soon, Professor Whitmore was escorting his group to concerts, theatres, cinemas—anything to bring Nina joy under the guise of cultural enrichment. Ironically, it won him the students’ hearts. They adored him, sensing his genuine care. Only with Nina did he hesitate.
There had been one disastrous conversation, and since then, he wasn’t sure how to approach her.
***
It happened during an after-hours classroom cleaning shift. Nina and her best friend, Lucy, were meant to tidy up, but Lucy begged off early, leaving Nina alone. She didn’t mind. She liked the quiet of the empty college, humming to herself as she wiped desks and straightened chairs.
She didn’t know how much she resembled a fairy-tale princess in those moments, singing without reservation. No enchanted animals came to her aid, but Professor Whitmore did, pausing in the hallway, transfixed. That voice—clear, luminous, almost operatic—felt hauntingly familiar. *Surely she sings with the college choir?* He meant to step in softly, but the creaking door betrayed him.
The singing stopped. Wide emerald eyes, alarmed, locked onto him. Flustered, Nina snatched a textbook, flipping it open at random, pretending nothing had happened. Gregory, equally awkward, rifled through the teacher’s desk, grasping for an excuse. Finding nothing, he reached for a tattered manual on the shelf.
“Ah, here it is—the study guide!” he declared, clutching it like a lifeline.
A dreadful silence followed. He stared at the pages, scrambling for conversation, words failing him. Nina, stiff as a statue, feigned deep reading—praying he wouldn’t mention the singing.
“Nina, you must be tired!” he blurted. “Why haven’t you gone home?”
“I will—soon,” she mumbled.
He cleared his throat. “Why did you choose a mining college? It’s an unusual path for a young woman.”
She blinked. “It’s the only proper one in town.”
“What about—the culinary institute?” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Nina bristled. “*Culinary?*” Then, remembering herself: “I mean—there are others, but none as good.”
“Not interested in cooking, then?”
“No.” She scowled at her geology textbook. “I can already cook.”
“Admirable, admirable. Perhaps music school would suit you? I heard—you sing beautifully.”
A shadow crossed her face. “They wouldn’t take me.”
“What? That’s impossible. Was the admissions committee *deaf?*”
Her expression crumpled. She snapped the book shut. “Excuse me, I have to go.”
“Goodbye—” he managed, watching her flee.
*What did I say wrong?* Had he pried too much? Or worse—had she sensed his feelings? The thought terrified him.
***
Gregory became obsessed with the college choir. He’d never cared before, but if Nina sang there— He sought out the music teacher, feigning interest in a New Year’s performance for his class, mentioning their “golden-voiced” student.
“None of your students have ever joined the choir,” she said, puzzled.
“Not even—Nina Parker?”
She shook her head. “Bring her in. Let’s hear her.”
***
Gregory was baffled. Nina had said she’d been rejected from music school—yet she sang like an angel. Something didn’t add up. He cornered Lucy, Nina’s outspoken friend, who dropped the truth like a bomb:
“You didn’t know? Nina’s—well, she’s nearly deaf. One ear’s completely gone, the other just barely works.”
Gregory felt like he’d been struck by a tidal wave. “But—we’ve talked. And she *sings!*”
Lucy shrugged. “She lip-reads. Watch—she’s always focusing on your mouth.”
Suddenly, everything made sense. The intensity of her gaze, the rejection from music school—and his own careless words about *deaf admissions officers.*
Heart sinking, he devised a plan. If Nina wouldn’t audition alone, he’d bring the whole class. They began rehearsing *Those Were the Days*, the era’s ubiquitous hit. Nina, compensating for her hearing, sang louder than anyone—and at last, the world heard her glorious voice. Gregory watched her smile bloom during rehearsals, then onstage. It was his quiet victory.
***
When Nina graduated with top marks, Professor Whitmore finally confessed his feelings—though she’d already guessed. She could read lips, but hearts even better. A year later, they married. The age difference meant nothing. In the end, numbers mattered in equations—not in love.
