Page 4 of Blake University HBCU Chronicles: Nuri & Silas

Nuri walked into Advanced Psych ten minutes early, not because she needed to prove anything, but because silence always felt sweeter before the world started talking.

The room was dim, filtered with morning light that slipped in through the blinds like a secret.

She chose her seat two rows from the front, right by the window.

Nuri didn’t care about appearing the smartest in the class, she didn’t always feel like participating.

However, she always made it her business to sit close enough to catch everything without being expected to respond; and of course to secretly lust after Professor Sullivan.

There was never a dull moment in Professor Sullivan’s class, he had a fire-ass personality, and everyone loved his class.

Pens tapped. Laptops opened. Multiple conversations whispered in low tones that faded as more students wandered in.

Butterflies squirmed in the pit of Nuri’s stomach when she thought back to the pep rally.

The energy that passed between her and Professor Sullivan was so fucking electrifying.

She hadn’t seen him since, but was interested to see if she’d get that same feeling again when their eyes locked.

Shit is crazy… this nigga got me chasing a feeling, and I ain’t even felt the dick yet. Lord help.

Professor Sullivan walked in two minutes late like time bowed to him and not the other way around.

No excuse.

No rush.

Just smooth, calculated steps like his presence came with its own weight.

His low caesar, jet black waves laid so smooth they looked airbrushed on his scalp. He had the type of cut that spoke volumes, there was no doubt his barber was like that, and his appointments stayed booked.

His fit was on point as usual. He wore black, Tom Ford tailored slacks, a black button-down collar dress shirt that molded to his arms, black Gucci loafers, and that signature gold Phi ring glinting every time he moved his hand.

Professor Sullivan didn’t have to raise his voice when he entered.

Shit, he was the volume. Every student in that room adjusted to it—whether they meant to or not.

“Let’s talk about morality,” he said, voice low but sure.

“Is it absolute… or does it bend?” Professor Sullivan stepped behind the podium, resting one palm on the edge, gaze sweeping the room without landing anywhere too long.

“Is right always right?” he asked. “Or does it depend on who’s watching? ”

A few students shifted in their seats, some looked confused, while others were thoroughly intrigued.

“Think about it,” he continued. “If someone steals food to feed their starving child… are they a criminal, or a parent doing what’s necessary?”

“They’re both,” a voice from the left side offered. “It’s wrong, but it’s understandable.”

Professor Sullivan half-nodded. “Morality is often based on consequences. Not action. Society likes to play judge depending on who’s standing in front of the jury,” then his gaze moved, landing on her. “Ms. Sinclair,” he said, slow like he already knew what she’d say. “What’s your take?”

The air shifted, but Nuri didn’t blink. She straightened in her chair, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I think morality is internal. A compass, not a crowd decision.”

A few students murmured, but Professor Sullivan didn’t look away.

“So you believe people always know the difference between right and wrong?”

“I believe we know when we’re betraying ourselves,” she said, tone smooth but weighted. “Even if no one’s around to witness it.”

The tension was soft, but thick…layered with something that had an underlying meaning.

Professor Sullivan circled the front of the room slowly, like a lion that wasn’t hungry, but liked to see who flinched first.

“So what about when wrong is necessary?” He asked. “When it protects something, or someone you love?”

“Then you’re still choosing,” Nuri replied, chin lifted. “And choices have cost. Doing the wrong thing for the right reason doesn’t make it right… it just makes it yours .”

The class was silent now, and no one dared interrupt because this wasn’t a debate anymore. This was a conversation between two people who felt more than they said. Who were saying other things under the weight of big words and clean diction.

Professor Sullivan paused by her desk. He didn’t speak for a moment. Just watched her. Not inappropriately. Not obviously. It was in a way that said, I see you.

“Strong answer,” he finally said. “But remember this…sometimes survival forces people into spaces where morality is luxury. Not everybody can afford it.”

Nuri didn’t respond.

Not with words.

The look she gave him said everything.

The bell rang ten minutes later, but nobody moved until Professor Sullivan dismissed them, but Nuri stayed seated a second longer than she needed to.

Then she stood, grabbed her bag, and walked out slowly– eyes locked the entire time.

Her chin high, heels soft, and her heart louder than she wanted to admit.

So much was left unspoken, and they both questioned if they’d ever be able to finish the conversation.

Nuri still felt him watching her, and she loved that shit more than she’d ever let on in that setting.