Sweet Romance12 min read
Quarantine, Confessions, and the Professor Who Told Them to Call Her His Wife
ButterPicks10 views
I never planned to embarrass myself in front of four men I could not stop thinking about. I never planned to be the drunk sender of a group message that pulled in old lovers and a man I had secretly adored for years.
"I like you, Finn," I typed with trembling thumbs. "I like you."
"Who is this?" Heath wrote first.
"..." Joel sent six dots; cold as glass.
"Lmao, drunk?" Liam wrote.
I stared at the avatars—those faces that had meant different things at different times—then the professor's dog avatar. My heart felt like a fist.
"You're a mess," I told myself. "Send it. Send it and be done."
I hit send. Then, for five minutes, nothing. My phone buzzed. Finn's name flashed with an audio bubble.
"My cat is under the blanket," Finn's voice said in the recording when I finally tapped it, but the rest was quiet and private, and the cat muffled the rest. My cheeks burned. I panicked and dissolved the group like a coward.
"Of course you did," I whispered to the empty room.
Three days later, the university told us the building was sealed for quarantine. I found myself carrying a packet of lab files to Finn's house because Gemma—our class rep—asked me to deliver them. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and fear.
"Finn's door is open," I said, knocking gently. The door gave under my hand. I stepped in and froze.
Heath leaned on the table, Joel stood rigid, Liam sat scrolling like nothing had happened. The kettle clinked in the kitchen.
"You're here," Heath said without emotion.
"You're all here," I said, voice thin.
A voice from the kitchen—deep and calm—announced, "We have to quarantine. Everyone stay." Finn walked out wearing a coverall and a tired smile. The red in my face flamed up when his eyes landed on me.
"Not sick?" he asked.
"No." I almost lied.
"Let me scan you," he said, and his steady hand guided my phone over a QR code. He stood close enough that I could smell the clean soap on his skin and the faint leather of his coat. Heat rushed through me.
"Is there anywhere to sit?" Joel asked. "Enough rooms?"
"There are four rooms," Finn said. "One for each."
"One for each?" Heath's tone edged into something sharp. "And I get to pick?"
"You pick?" Liam snorted.
"Right." Heath's face split into something dangerous and smug. "We should let Aurora choose."
"Excuse me?" My heart thudded. I wished the floor would open.
"Why don't you pick who you want to sleep next to?" Heath added. "Or we can draw lots."
"Don't be ridiculous," Finn said. "Aurora will sleep in the guest room. I'll set it up."
My mouth opened. "I can—"
"No," Finn said softly. "You'll stay in the guest room. Joel, you and Heath share the other. Liam will take the small bedroom."
Heath laughed like a blade. "So considerate."
I tried to steady myself and walked into the guest room. The door clicked. Finn's hand brushed the small of my back as he closed it, and some part of me surrendered without asking permission.
"You're trembling," Finn said.
"It's a nervous thing," I admitted.
"Tell me everything."
I almost did. I wanted to tell him how I had watched his hands with a feverish kind of worship while he taught our lab, how I had stayed awake replaying his dry jokes, how a photo of his Labrador had tormented me with a strange, tender jealousy. Instead I said, "Do you... have a girlfriend?"
Finn's mouth tightened for a second. "No."
Relief flooded me like light.
"Then why is your avatar a dog?" I asked, trying to be playful.
"It's Cooper. He belongs to someone who often lets him stay over," Finn said. His face was calm. "He helped me with data once."
"He looked like he was living an entire better life on Instagram," I said, half-laughing.
Finn smiled—the slow, almost invisible kind that lit his eyes. "You shouldn't spout secrets about me. They turn out to be true."
That night, we sat in the living room with a horror movie on. I let myself sink into the couch, pretending the shadows were on-screen monsters and not the ghosts of my past. At one point, the film's scare made me flinch so violently that I tumbled into Finn's lap.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You're a dramatic sleeper," Finn said, and when our eyes met, the air felt so thin I thought it would rip. "Do you want to sleep here instead?"
My throat got dry. "I don't want to be alone."
He laughed softly. "Then stay."
Heart beat one—hard. "Okay," I breathed.
He picked up my chin with one finger. "You were the drunk one, Aurora. Tell me what you said when you could not stop yourself."
"I told you I like you," I admitted. "I told you that... I couldn't keep it in anymore."
Finn had a way of being kind that didn't sound weak. "And did it mean anything?" he asked.
"What if I said yes?" I dared.
"Then I'd say thank you," he said. "And I'd ask you to mean it."
There were moments like that—little, dangerous, and exact. He did a hundred small transgressions that were huge to me.
He fixed my hair when it caught on a chair. He tossed his jacket over my shoulders without speaking when a draft came through. He pulled me close to help me steady on my feet more than once. For a woman who had been left and used, those were acts that landed like rescue ropes.
"Do you always keep your promises?" I asked once.
"Not always," Finn admitted. "But I'm careful with people I like."
That line felt like a promise even when it was casual.
The house's calm broke on the third night. A late knock. A woman in a towel walked out of Finn's room—Natalia Bond, my senior, the woman whose social posts had always been a little too steady and a little too long. Her eyes were fevered, her hair wet; she looked like someone who'd rehearsed pain.
"How did you get in?" Finn said.
"You left the door unlocked," Natalia hissed. "I was—"
"She broke in," Liam blurted.
"It was a misunderstanding," Natalia said, voice hollow. "He saved me once."
I watched the scene and felt a frost run through my veins. Secrets were spilling.
"What are you doing here, Natalia?" Finn asked, quiet and cold.
"I—" She faltered. Her stoic mask cracked. "I like him. I—"
"He followed your scent to the building?" Heath taunted.
Natalia's face streaked with fury. "You don't know him like I do. He looked at me once and I thought—"
"You were following him," Finn said. "You created accounts to stalk his photos and his schedule. You bought a dog off a seller and then kept it as bait to force meetings."
The room inhaled. "That's a serious accusation," Joel said.
"This is what you get for keeping a dog to get close to someone," Liam said, disgust plain on his face.
"You're lying!" Natalia shrieked, and in her panic she reached toward me. "You don't know me. I was hurt before. You were mean to me. He came and saved me. I'm grateful."
"Gratitude isn't abuse," Finn said, and his voice turned sharper. "Sending me messages isn't gratitude. You broke into my home during a pandemic. You kept a sick dog and told lies to my neighbors."
I felt anger swell like hot water. "Why would you do that to a dog?"
She blinked, and for a terrifying second the hurt looked real. "I wanted to see him. I didn't think—"
"You didn't think enough to spare an animal pain?" Heath said.
"Look," Finn said. "You have two choices. Leave now and never return, or we call the authorities. The neighbors have footage."
I had expected her to scuttle away like a guilty animal. I had expected denial. What I didn't expect was the way she straightened her shoulders and tried to shove blame back at us.
"You're all so cruel," Natalia flung at us. "You want to keep him for yourselves and—"
"Enough." Finn's voice was a blade. "You assaulted my property, you harassed neighbors, and you abused an animal. I'm calling the police."
She laughed once—a brittle, high laugh. "Call them then. See who believes the word of a man in a lab over a woman's feelings."
I looked at Finn. He pressed a corner of the coffee table with his thumb, steady. "Neighbors, come please. I need witnesses."
Phones lit up in pockets. Voices drifted in through the hall. "What's happening?" someone called. A small crowd began to form at the corridor windows—neighbors and residents trapped in the same quarantine.
This is when everything turned public.
"Mr. Clemons, are you sure?" Heath asked.
"I'm sure," Finn said. "Natalia, look at your phone."
He slid his device across the table and pulled up a message thread—a web of screenshots from the neighbor's doorbell camera that showed Natalia using a copied key to enter the building days earlier, her hands rough with plastic bags. Another clip showed her rough-housing Cooper, the Labrador, forcing it onto a small balcony when it whimpered. There was a grainy hospital text confirming a complaint about neglect.
The room's air went heavy.
"You have no right," Natalia said. "Those are lies."
"These are screenshots," Finn said. "Neighbors have seen you leave the apartment in the middle of night. You blackmailed the student who reported you. There are messages where you planned to visit me and lied about borrowing groceries."
"That doesn't prove anything!" Natalia cried. "You—"
Then a woman from the hall pressed her face to the window and mouthed, "We saw." Another neighbor lifted their phone. A dozen devices streamed and captured Natalia's face. Her earlier boldness turned into something raw and thin.
"You're telling me these hollow things are more important than my feelings?" she wailed. "You were the one who made me feel—"
"You made your choice," Finn said quietly. "And now you must own it."
She started with denial. "No—no—" Her voice trembled. Then anger flickered. "You think you can make me disappear? I'll sue you for slander!"
"Call who you want," Finn said. "We have footage. We have witnesses."
The first shift in her reaction came as shock; she saw the neighbors' faces peer through the glass, saw their phones pointing. Her eyes widened as the evidence stacked.
"You're doing this to me because you don't want me?" she accused, wild.
"Because you hurt an animal and invaded a home," Jacob—no, Heath—waited—Heath's voice cut in. "Because you thought you owned someone's life."
Her hands trembled. "I—I'm sorry—"
"Sorry won't fix a broken animal," Joel said.
"Sorry won't unmake the fear you've caused," Liam added.
Around us, people whispered. "I saw her take a key." "I saw her at midnight." Some pulled their curtains aside to watch. Phones clicked. The corridor filled with the sound of neighbors—soft but sullen.
At the edge of hysteria, Natalia's tone altered to bargaining. "Please, Finn. Don't call the police. I'll leave. I'll go. I won't be here."
"You're leaving now and never come back," Finn said. "And you're going to return the dog and pay for the vet care." His voice was a judge's now, measured.
"I will," she sobbed. "I will pay."
"Public humiliation isn't what drives justice," Finn said aloud to the room. "But people need to know. If we cover this, it will hurt someone else."
"I didn't mean—" Natalia's face crumpled. "I only wanted him to notice me."
"You chose harm," Finn said. "You chose manipulation."
At that, a neighbor—an elderly woman who had lived on our floor for twenty years—came forward, hand on her cane. "Young lady, punishing animals for affection is cruel. You made a choice. We are tired of quiet."
The slow change in Natalia's behavior turned to collapse. She dropped to her knees, hands clawing at the floor. "Please—please—" she begged. "I'll beg anyone. Don't take me away."
Phones now recorded everything. Comments in group chats started: "She does that? Wow." "I saw her with a dog last week, it looked thin." "Good. Finally justice."
Someone clapped—not in support of Natalia, but in relief. "Good. Show them. Don't let this kind of thing happen again."
Her smugness had become denial, then shock, then bargaining, and finally a raw, ugly plea. People in the corridor had faces that were weary but satisfied. The neighbor who had first filmed the balcony clip stepped forward to hand Finn the phone with the footage. "We don't want to be heroes," she said. "We just want our building safe."
Then sirens—a neighbor had managed to call the non-emergency line; an officer arrived in fifteen minutes, though it felt longer. The police took statements in the lobby with windows open. Natalia clutched at her towel and tried to compose herself. She begged the officers, she cried, she admitted partial guilt and then recanted, then sobbed. The final arc in her reaction before being escorted out was a thin, raw pleading.
"You don't understand!" she wailed as the handcuffs clicked. "He made me love him!"
"Love doesn't justify hurting others," an officer answered.
As she was led past the small gathering, phones brought her face to the feeds of neighbors still watching. I could see her mouth forming apologies that sounded empty.
"People are streaming this," Heath said bluntly. "You're going viral."
She looked up at us with frantic eyes. "Please—please take it down."
"No," Finn said. "We need people to know that this isn't love."
She was taken out with the balcony footage and the neighbor statements as public record. The hallway—once filled with the quiet hum of quarantine—felt like a courthouse after the gavel. People whispered that the court of public opinion had already started to do what it had to.
After she left, there was a long silence. Then someone, Joel, muttered, "Well, that was public."
I sank down on the couch. Finn came over and sat beside me. "You okay?" he asked.
"No," I said, voice small. "But I—"
"You were brave."
"Brave?" I snorted. "I just wanted to hide."
He took my hand and squeezed. "You did what needed to be done."
That night, everything changed.
"Why did you keep quiet before?" I asked him later, alone in the small guest room, my shoulder brushing against his. "Why didn't you tell me you liked me?"
He smiled in that slow way. "You were the drunk one. I liked to watch you sober."
"That's cruel," I complained.
"Maybe," Finn said. "But I also like quiet things. I like the way you chew your lip when you think."
I laughed despite myself. "So I have to be your quiet fascination?"
"No," he said, drawing closer. "I want you to be mine."
One of the moments I will always remember—one of the heart-thudding ones—was when he, without a word, draped his coat over my shoulders while we waited for the police report. "You're shivering," he said. His coat smelled like cedar and something warm. My hands clenched in the wool.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Another came when he pressed his forehead to mine in the kitchen and said, "Don't let them get to you." He had never been demonstrative before, and the contact burned into me.
A third was when, during a late-night lull, he took my hand and asked, "Would you like to stay after the quarantine ends?" His voice was small and hopeful, like someone asking a question that meant everything.
"Stay?" I repeated, breathless.
"Yes," Finn said. "Stay. Live here. Help with Cooper. Be my partner in the lab. Be the person who can call me out."
My throat closed. "Would your students believe this?"
"Call them whatever you want them to," he said lightly and kissed the corner of my mouth. "They can call you my assistant, my friend, or—"
"Or what?"
"Call her my wife," he said, and then, soft as a secret, "Call her my wife."
These were not words flippant or careless. They landed like a verdict. He had told them in that tiny audio that night: "Call her my wife." I felt my face heat.
"And if they mock?" I asked.
"They will," he said, "and they'll get used to it."
My life had been a string of small defeats and a few bold mistakes. That night, in quarantine, with three exes under one roof and a former stalker removed, Finn named me in a way no one had before.
"Call her my wife," he had told them.
After quarantine ended, the footage of Natalia's arrest became the talk of the school. She sued, she recanted in court sometimes, she tried to spin a story of obsession, but the neighbors' statements and the veterinary receipts were there like hard anchors. She tried to rebuild her image online, posting fabricated "I was misunderstood" posts. The feeds filled with commentary. People who had read her earlier praise found it immoral now.
Heath retreated into himself. "I'm sorry," he said once in the kitchen. "I messed up."
"It's late," I answered. "You can heal."
Joel kept distance. "I didn't know she'd go that far," he said.
"Then you didn't know her," Finn replied.
Liam tried to make peace with me. "Aurora, I was an idiot. I thought it was a joke."
"That joke hurt," I said.
They all shifted in their own ways.
Finn and I moved slowly. We had awkward dinners and gentle touches. We had long, silly conversations about nothing and then, sometimes, heavy exchanges about trust. Each small kindness melted layers of old fear.
One evening, after the lockdown lifted and Cooper's vet bill was paid, we sat on Finn's balcony watching the city wash in rain.
"Are you serious about the 'wife' thing?" I asked, teasing him.
He placed my hand on his chest. "Yes. I said it when I meant it. I want the people close to me to know you belong to me."
I laughed. "You sound possessive."
"I am possessive," he admitted. "But it's because I care. Do you mind?"
"No," I said, then kissed him—quick and sure.
He breathed, "Good."
At a faculty seminar a week later, the three of them—Heath, Joel, Liam—stood together when Finn introduced me as "Aurora Riley, my research partner." People glanced. Someone whispered.
"Call her my wife," Finn mouthed at me with a small smile across the room.
I mouthed back, "Already started." The room didn't know the truth of it, but I did. I had been called his wife by him, and somehow that made all the ancient wounds feel smaller.
When it came time for the academic review, I stayed by his side. We worked late, we argued over data, we laughed at the ridiculousness of an algorithm that refused to behave, and during the long nights, when I dozed at the desk, he would pick me up and carry me to bed.
In the end, the story that everyone told was simple: the stalker had been exposed, social justice had been done, and the professor had quietly stolen the heart of the student who had once been drunk and bold enough to confess.
"Did you plan it?" I asked Finn one quiet morning.
"Plan what?" he asked, thumb tracing my palm.
"To make me your wife."
He smiled and kissed my knuckles. "No plan. Just certain."
"Certain?"
"Certain that when I like someone, I don't play games. I keep them."
That is the truth I learned in quarantine: sometimes courage begins with a clumsy, late-night confession. Sometimes punishment for the bad ones is the quiet humiliation of exposure in front of the whole building. And sometimes, the person you thought was out of reach will tell everyone to call you by a name that binds you both together.
"Call her my wife," Finn had said into the group that night.
He said it again later—out loud, in front of the three men who used to hold parts of my heart—and the words sounded like a home.
The End
— Thank you for reading —