The Forbidden Throb (Emma and Daniel) novel Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Emma’s POV:

I kept walking toward the dorm entrance and pushed through the entrance doors, leaving Tom and his unbelievable eyes behind.

The dorm room felt unusually empty when I pushed open the door.

No Olivia sprawled across her bed with textbooks. No music playing from her laptop. Just the quiet hum of the heating system and the faint smell of her lavender body spray lingering in the air.

I pulled out my phone, typing quickly: Hey, are you coming back tonight?

Her response came almost immediately: Staying at Matthew’s. You okay?

I stared at the message for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

I’m fine. Have fun.

I’d wanted to tell her goodbye properly. But perhaps this was better. Cleaner. Less complicated.

One less explanation to fumble through, I thought, setting my phone on the desk.

I surveyed the room, mentally cataloging what needed packing. It wasn’t much, really, three semesters‘ worth of accumulated belongings: clothes in the closet, textbooks on the shelf, toiletries in the shared bathroom.

I pulled my largest suitcase from under the bed and started with the closet, folding sweaters and jeans with mechanical precision

Our home, Daniel had said. So casual, so certain.

What did “home” even mean anymore?

I don’t even know where he lives, I realized with a strange jolt.

I shook my head, forcing myself to focus. One thing at a time. Pack now, figure out the rest later.

By the time I’d emptied the closet and filled two boxes with books and miscellaneous items, exhaustion had settled deep in my bones. I glanced at the clock —past 11 PM already.

I grabbed my toiletry bag and headed to the bathroom, going through the motions of washing my face and brushing my teeth.

Back in the room, I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. Tomorrow, I’d finish packing, Tomorrow, I’d text Daniel to pick me up.

The next morning, I woke to my alarm with a sense of purpose I hadn’t felt in days.

Professor Laurent’s class. Then finish packing.

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Chapter 47

I threw on jeans and a sweater, grabbed my bag, and headed across campus.

The October air was crisp, leaves crunching under my feet, students hurrying past with coffee cups and backpacks.

Professor Laurent’s lecture was on investigative journalism–the ethics of source protection, the delicate balance between truth and harm.

I took notes mechanically, my mind only half–present.

When class ended, I gathered my things and started toward the door.

“Emma?”

I turned. Professor Laurent stood by his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, a folder in his hands.

“Could you stay for a moment?”

My stomach tightened. Did I miss an assignment?

et somethin

I approached slowly, gripping the strap of my bag. “Is everything okay?”

She smiled—warm, genuine

“More than okay. I have good news.”

She opened the folder, pulling out a single sheet of paper with an official letterhead I recognized immediately: the French Medical Journalism Fellowship

logo.

“Your application was

appro

she said simply. “They’ve selected you as one of the reporter assistants for the medicine program.”

For a moment, I couldn’t process the words.

Then it hit

email about the medical journalism program I’d sent Professor Laurent that night after everything with Nicholas had fallen apart.

I’d checked my inbox obsessively for days afterward. Nothing. No acknowledgment, no interview request, not even an automated reply.

After a week of silence, I thought I’d missed my chance.

And now-

“I–really?” My voice came out higher than intended, almost breathless.

“Really.” Professor Laurent’s smile widened. “They were particularly impressed with your bilingual proficiency and your background study.”

I hesitated, confusion flickering through my excitement. “But… don’t I need to interview? I thought there would be-

“Normally, yes.” Professor Laurent leaned back against his desk, his expression thoughtful. “But this is a collaborative program between the university and Mass General. As your professor and academic advisor, I’m able to vouch for students I believe are ready for this level of work.”

She paused, meeting my eyes directly.

“Emma, I’ve watched your development over the past three years. You have the analytical skills and professional maturity this position requires.” His voice was firm, certain.

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Something warm and fragile bloomed in my chest–validation I hadn’t realized I’d been desperate for.

“I… My throat tightened unexpectedly. “Thank you, Professor. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” She smiled, handing me the official acceptance letter. “Now go celebrate. You’ve earned it.”

I walked out of the classroom in a daze, clutching the acceptance letter.

I was halfway across the quad when I spotted Olivia near the library, chatting with a group of classmates. She saw me and waved, breaking away from the group to jog over.

“Hey! thought you had class all afternoon.”

“Just finished.” I couldn’t suppress my grin. “Olivia, I got it. The medical journalism program accepted me as a reporter assistant.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, Emma! That’s amazing!”

She threw her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking me off balance.

“This calls for a celebration,” she declared, pulling back. ‘Dinner tonight. My treat. We’re getting the good pizza, not the dining hall garbage.”

I laughed–genuine, unforced. “Deal.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you later about timing. She squeezed my arm. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Liv.”

We walked back toward the dorm.

together, Olivia chattering about her week at Matthew’s place, her latest assignment for her journalism ethics class, how

one of her sources had tried to back out of an interview.

When we reached our building,

via bounded

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