Attendance was taken. Ling's tone didn't change when she reached Rhea's name.
"Present," Rhea replied calmly.
Ling didn't look up.
Then she began.
"Today we're covering diagnostic bias," Ling said evenly. "Specifically—how confidence without competence kills patients."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
Ling's gaze lifted.
It moved across the room slowly.
Then stopped.
"Haris," she said.
He blinked. "Yes—yes, ma'am?"
Ling tilted her head slightly. "Stand."
He stood, startled.
Rhea's fingers curled lightly against her notebook.
Ling didn't look at Rhea.
"Haris," Ling continued, "you seem… confident."
A ripple of quiet tension moved through the class.
"I—I try to be," Haris said.
Ling nodded once. "Good. Then this should be easy."
She tapped the screen.
"A twenty-four-year-old patient presents with acute chest pain, diaphoresis, and shortness of breath. No prior cardiac history. What's your first differential?"
Haris swallowed. "Uh—panic attack?"
A few students glanced at each other.
Ling's face didn't change.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well," Haris said, scrambling, "young age, stress—"
"Sit," Ling cut in sharply.
Haris froze. "I—"
"Sit," she repeated.
He sat down immediately, face flushing.
Ling turned slightly. "Anyone else?"
Silence.
Ling's gaze flicked back to Haris.
"No?" she said softly. "Then let's revisit."
She faced him fully now.
"Haris," she said, voice still calm, "what did you miss?"
He hesitated. "I—"
"The symptoms," Ling said. "You dismissed them because they didn't fit your assumption."
She stepped away from the podium, slow, deliberate.
"You chose comfort over caution," she continued. "That patient dies in six hours."
The room was dead silent.
Rhea's jaw tightened.
Ling walked closer to Haris's desk.
"Do you know why?" Ling asked.
He shook his head slightly.
"Because you were busy feeling confident," she said. "Instead of being competent."
Haris nodded quickly. "I understand."
Ling paused.
"No," she said. "You don't."
She straightened and addressed the class.
"This," Ling said, gesturing vaguely toward Haris, "is what unchecked confidence looks like. It smiles. It flirts. It assumes."
A few students glanced at Rhea.
Ling didn't acknowledge it.
"Haris," Ling said again, turning back to him, "stand."
He stood again, hands stiff at his sides.
"Second scenario," Ling said. "Same patient. But this time—you're not distracted. What's your first move?"
Haris swallowed. "ECG. Cardiac enzymes."
"Too late," Ling replied instantly.
His face fell.
"You already wasted time," she said. "The correct answer doesn't save you if your instinct was wrong."
She looked at him for a long second.
Then said quietly, "Sit."
He did.
Ling returned to the podium, composure intact.
"Lesson," she said to the room, "is simple. If you're here to impress, leave. If you're here to learn, bleed your ego dry."
Her eyes moved once—briefly—to Rhea.
Not lingering. Not soft.
Just there.
Rhea didn't look back.
Ling continued the lecture without another pause. Pathways. Protocols. Sharp questions. Relentless pacing.
She never mentioned Haris again.
But he didn't speak for the rest of the class.
The bell rang sharp and final.
Chairs scraped back immediately. The room loosened, voices rising in relief, bags slung over shoulders. Ling closed her tablet with a precise click and stepped back from the podium, posture immaculate, expression unreadable.
Rhea stood.
So did Haris.
He hesitated for half a second, then leaned slightly toward her, voice low but hopeful.
"Rhea—about earlier—"
She didn't look at him at first. She adjusted her bag strap slowly, deliberately.
Then she turned just enough to face him.
"We'll go together," Rhea said.
Her voice was clear. Loud enough.
Not shouted.
Not casual.
Intentional.
A few heads turned.
Ling heard it.
Her jaw clenched.
Just once.
Haris blinked, surprised—and then smiled. "Yeah. Okay. Sure."
Rhea didn't return the smile. She didn't need to. The words had already done their job.
She turned toward the aisle, Haris falling into step beside her.
They took three steps.
Ling moved.
Fast.
Her hand closed around Rhea's wrist, firm and unmistakable. Not rough. Not gentle. Certain.
Rhea gasped softly at the sudden contact and turned sharply.
The room froze.
Ling leaned in just enough that only Rhea could hear her.
"I want you in my office," Ling said quietly. "Ten minutes."
Her tone wasn't raised.
It didn't need to be.
Rhea's pulse jumped under Ling's fingers. She felt it. Ling felt it too.
Rhea yanked her hand back. "I'm busy."
Ling's eyes didn't leave her face.
"You're not."
Haris shifted uncomfortably. "Uh—Professor—"
Ling didn't even glance at him.
"This doesn't concern you," she said flatly.
The air around them tightened.
Rhea's chin lifted. "You don't get to summon me."
Ling stepped back half a pace, giving space—but not retreating.
"You can walk in," Ling said calmly. "Or I can come find you."
Her gaze dropped briefly—meaningfully—to Rhea's wrist. Then lifted again.
Rhea's breath hitched despite herself.
"You love authority," Rhea snapped.
Ling's mouth twitched. Not a smile.
"I love discipline," she replied. "You lack it."
Rhea laughed sharply. "You think humiliating people makes you superior."
Ling leaned closer again, voice lower. "No. I think you using him to hurt me is sloppy."
Haris stiffened.
Rhea's eyes flashed. "Don't flatter yourself."
Ling straightened fully then, masking everything again.
"Ten minutes," she repeated. "Don't be late."
She turned and walked out.
Just like that.
No glance back.
The door closed behind her.
The room exhaled.
Haris looked at Rhea, confused. "What was that?"
Rhea forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Control issues."
She stepped away from him.
"We'll talk later," she said quickly. "I—forgot something."
She didn't wait for his reply.
She walked out.
Rhea leaned against the wall just outside the lecture hall, heart pounding hard enough to ache.
Ten minutes.
She clenched her fists, then unclenched them.
"Arrogant," she muttered. "Absolutely arrogant."
Her wrist still burned where Ling had touched her.
She glanced down at it, jaw tightening.
"I don't care," she whispered to herself. "I don't."
A student passed. Then another.
Rhea pushed off the wall and started walking.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Each step toward Ling's office felt like walking back into a fire she'd sworn she didn't need.
And somewhere down the corridor, behind a closed office door, Ling stood perfectly still—jaw locked, hands braced against her desk—counting the same ten minutes like a threat instead of an invitation.