3. Jenna

3

JENNA

V as was absent on Thursday, and I was disappointed and worried. It was his first absence of the semester, so it was unusual for him, and even though there could be plenty of reasons for a student to miss class, panicking was my default reaction. I had a vivid imagination, and my mind immediately conjured car accidents and terrible illnesses.

Hopefully, it was neither.

I had been looking forward to discovering which story he'd chosen for his writing project. I also yearned to listen to that decadently rich voice of his as he talked about it in his enchanting British accent.

As my other students listed their choices, I made encouraging noises and gestures, but my heart wasn't in it. I hoped Vas would walk in and apologize for being late, but when that didn't happen, I waited impatiently for the class to be over so I could email him and find out why he was absent.

After I parted with the last of my students, I opened my laptop and emailed him.

Dear Vas,

I missed you in class today. Is everything okay? I'm worried because you've never missed class before. Please let me know if you need help with the assignment or anything else.

Best,

Dr. Carter

I hit send before I could talk myself out of it.

With that done, I pulled up the assignments the students had submitted and started reviewing them. Three of them had chosen Cinderella. There was always one tale that attracted the most attention every time I taught this class, and it tended to be one that had been recently adapted into a popular film. Still, I was glad that each of the three students who had chosen the story planned to rewrite it differently. One was setting it in her native country of Nigeria, the second one was writing it from the point of view of the fairy godmother, and the third was turning it into a drag competition set in a gay bar.

Luis was retelling the story of La Llorona from the perspective of a woman who had left her children in Mexico to work in the US, and Morty surprised me by choosing to rework the legend of Rip Van Winkle in an as yet-undecided way.

Hopefully, he would have fun with it and take some risks.

Half an hour later, glancing at my inbox made my heart skip a beat.

Vas had replied to my email.

Dear Jenna,

Your worry deeply touched me. I'm sorry for missing class today. I had to attend an emergency shareholder meeting that couldn't be moved.

Shareholder meeting? Did Vas own his own company? Not that it would have been a great surprise. Many of my students were working professionals taking the class for enjoyment.

I've thought a lot about the assignment and have decided to re-envision the tale of Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp . It was my favorite story as a child. I'm not sure what I want to do with it yet. Do you mind if I run some ideas by you before our next class?

Thank you so much.

Best,

Vas

Oh, well, that was fine. That was more than fine. I would happily chat with Vas about his story all day or whatever block of time I could carve out of my busy schedule.

After firing off an enthusiastic affirmative reply, I finally gave in to my curiosity and Googled him. I had struggled with myself overdoing that since the first time he'd attended my class. It wasn't any of my business to spy on my students on the internet, but I was only human and could only resist for so long.

Vas Singh, businessman…

It took a little digging because there were several businessmen by that name, but eventually, I found him, and…oh. Whoa.

Vas Singh, CEO of Interstep AI, signs a hundred-million-dollar deal to produce…

Vas Singh on the red carpet with his mother, Shivani Singh, a Bollywood star during the eighties and nineties…

Vas Singh named one of Forbes 30 Under 30…

Holy shit.

Vas wasn't just a businessman; he ran a tech company worth hundreds of millions—maybe a billion dollars if this latest investment paid off. He was a leader in the industry, and his mother was famous in India. I had no doubt that his father was also a big shot, but I already felt bad about looking up Vas online, so I didn't dig any further.

I had a silly urge to email my mother and tell her I was teaching creative writing to a young business mogul. At last, I had something to share that would interest her.

My mother was a computer scientist, so it was possible that she knew who he was and had read about him in industry magazines. Maybe I should also tell my sisters while I was at it. They'd followed in our mother's footsteps; one worked for a startup looking into energy storage, and the other had designed a calendar app that had already paid off her mortgage and allowed her to buy a brand-new car. Father…well, the less I said about him the better, but the rest of my family would be thrilled.

I had always been the odd one out, called the black sheep of the family behind my back for throwing myself into the arts. "And look at what it's done for you," I imagined my mother saying with a sigh. "You've taken a vow of poverty and are barely scratching a living. Why can't you be more like your sisters, or this Mr. Singh?"

Her projected reaction stung deep, too deep to risk writing that email for fear that she would prove me right.

What prompted a successful and wealthy man like Vas Singh to take a creative writing class at a community college?

Perhaps he was more like me than I realized, and his family had pressured him into doing what they wanted him to do instead of what his heart was in.

I hadn't succumbed to the pressure, but that hadn't been particularly difficult since I had sucked in math and science, so I couldn't become a software engineer even if I wanted to. No college would have admitted me. On the other hand, my writing had gotten me accepted into several prestigious universities, so my mother had been forced to accept that one of her daughters would not follow in her footsteps.

I was about to close my laptop when I got a new email from Vas.

Sounds great! Let's meet over coffee this evening. Or dinner if you prefer. My treat .

Coffee? Dinner?

My heart soared momentarily before I dragged my imagination down to earth. No matter who Vas was outside my class, he was still my student. I needed to remember that and treat him accordingly. That meant no dinner dates or anything else of such an intimate nature.

Coffee, however, would be acceptable.

Coffee sounds great. I'm free at six if you want to meet me at The Whip. I grinned at how kinky the name of the campus's coffee shop sounded.

A minute later, he replied— How about Vivo's instead?

Vivo's was the fanciest coffee shop in town, with an impressive selection of artisan coffees and an Italian ambiance, and it was also known as a perfect first-date spot.

I shouldn't accept, but…

I glanced at the watery iced coffee in its cardboard cup, which was the best The Whip could provide. Vivo's coffee was so much better. The one time I was there had been for a faculty meeting, so it was a legitimate place to meet with a student despite its romantic atmosphere.

I can do that. I'll meet you there at six.

His return email was immediate. Thank you. I look forward to it .

Oh, Lord. He looked forward to it.

I was doomed.