Eliza, where are you? I'm listening, watching, waiting for you. I need you. How dare you run away? Where's the courage, the fearlessness I fell in love with?

I don't know what else to do but write. It's dark in my dorm room, and the wind rattles the panes of my window, and I'm supposed to be driving to my parents' right now for winter break, but I can't feel my arms or my legs, and my chest aches because I don't know where you've gone. Or why.

I know I shouldn't have fallen in love with my professor. But you inspired me when you stood in front of the class, telling us to find our authentic selves. And I did—with you. How could I know that you would be so afraid of this, of us? That you'd be so terrified of . . . yourself? Wherever you are, Eliza, hear me—and come back to me.

Love (yes, I'll write that word, Professor), Your Tara