Falling in love with your lecturer seems like something from a novel or movie, not real life. The idea of crossing that student-teacher boundary feels both strange and taboo. That’s how I felt when I first entered his class. Yet, over time, admiration for his intellect turned into something deeper. I vividly remember the first time I saw him: standing confidently at the front of the lecture hall, his piercing eyes scanning the room as he lectured. Instantly, I was drawn to his commanding presence, strong arms, and chiselled features.
On a typical Wednesday, I found myself in a heated debate with him about democracy’s flaws. “You’re a sweet debater,” he said. I admired his intellect, never thinking beyond the classroom. Excelling in his class, I often stayed behind to ask more questions, and he encouraged my curiosity. Our bond grew, and the classroom became our refuge—every glance and shared insight sparked a connection. Over time, our talks moved from coursework to life, as we bonded over literature, blurring the lines between student and teacher.
One evening, as the sun set, we found ourselves alone. His eyes locked on mine, the world fading. He scribbled, “Meet me at the café at 6:00 p.m.” I was there by 5:30, never been so early. Our conversation crackled with tension, and soon it was clear—this was more than intellectual. Coffee turned into a walk, then dinner. By night’s end, we were a couple. But doubts crept in. Was this right? Would it hurt his reputation? I told myself, “We’re adults.” I worked hard to keep up academically, and we kept the relationship hidden. He said it was about “control.” Control of what?
It was a Saturday evening when the fantasy unravelled. I remember it like yesterday. After days of feeling unwell, I bought a test kit, praying for a negative result. But as I stared at the little plus sign, my heart raced—shock, fear, excitement, and joy swirling in a dizzying mix. I picked up my phone and called him. I had both good and bad news: I was pregnant, but I wanted to keep it. That day, I learned a hard truth—no matter how happy a relationship seems, never get pregnant by a man who hasn’t committed to you. “You’re not sure about this,” he said. “You just don’t love me like you claim,” I snapped, my words echoing in the empty room. We agreed to meet at his place that evening.
I couldn’t wait to plead with him to keep the baby. His face said it all, but I needed to hear it. “Well, you’re terminating the pregnancy, and…” he hesitated. As I looked around, I saw a wedding invitation—my name was on it, but as a guest, not a bride. “When were you going to tell me?” I asked. “Just before you mentioned the pregnancy,” he mumbled. Goosebumps spread over me. Tears streamed like the floods of River Nyamwamba. He wasn’t just ending things; he was marrying someone else. “But I loved you. Can’t we stay friends?” he said, the cruelest joke. “You’re a student, and I’m your lecturer. We crossed a line.” Now he remembered the ethics. I walked out, before he could add the usual “you deserve better.” What could I tell my dad? What did I do next? I’m still here. Each choice—abortion or birth—brings heavy consequences, including poor performance and shame. Focus on your goals, and everything else will fall into place. let things happen at their right time.
