I wasn’t even supposed to be on Bumble that night.

It was one of those restless evenings halfway through the semester. My apartment smelled faintly like burnt coffee, my laptop was overheating, and I’d been staring at the same paragraph of my sociology paper for nearly an hour. The cursor blinked at me like it knew how stuck I was.

So I did what any self-respecting college student does when they’re procrastinating: I opened Bumble.

Swipe left. Left. Left. Mildly cute guy with a fish, hmmm, left again. 

I was on a streak, really, and then I froze.

There, smiling in a slightly grainy photo that looked like it was taken at a bookstore or café, was *him*. Dr. A.

My professor.

Chapter 1:

It took me a full ten seconds to process it. He was in a black sweatshirt, his hair a little messy not the crisp button-down, well-prepared version of him that lectured three times a week. His bio was simple: “Coffee enthusiast. Recovering perfectionist. Looking for someone who can keep up with sarcasm.”

I swear my brain short-circuited.

I sat there with my thumb hovering over the screen, my heart racing. Was it really him? What if it were someone using his photos? But… no. There was that little scar on his chin, the one I’d noticed when he’d smiled during class. It was definitely him.

I should’ve swiped left. Of course I should’ve. But curiosity? Curiosity is dangerous.

So I swiped right.

And then, Bumble exploded in fireworks. Only three words flashed on my screen: It’s a match!

I dropped my phone onto my desk and covered my face, laughing in disbelief. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

A few minutes later, my roommate Maya came in, and I had to show her.

She nearly screamed. “You matched with him? No!! You can’t message him.”

“I won’t,” I said. “Obviously I won’t.”

But of course, five minutes later, I did.

Me: “Didn’t expect to see you here, Professor.”

The typing dots appeared almost instantly.

Dr. Bennett: “Well. This is awkward.”

I bit my lip.

Me: “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

Dr. Bennett: “I appreciate that. And for the record… You have impeccable taste in bad timing.”

That was it. That was all we said that night. But my heart was pounding like I’d just done something both thrilling and catastrophically stupid. 

Chapter 2:

For the next week, nothing happened. He didn’t treat me any differently in class. He still called on me, still challenged my arguments, still smiled in that patient, professorly way when I got too passionate about a topic.

But something had shifted. I caught myself looking for his glance. Wondering if he remembered that we’d matched.

Then one day after class, as I was packing up, he walked over.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes weren’t.

“Sure.”

He hesitated, then said quietly, “About… the Bumble thing. Let’s just agree to pretend it didn’t happen. For both our sake.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my face was on fire. “Total glitch in the algorithm.”

He smiled, small, real. “Exactly.”

And that should’ve been it.

Except it wasn’t.

Chapter 3:

Two weeks later, he caught me after class again. “You mentioned you’re working on a paper about media bias, right? I’ve got some readings that might help. Do you want to grab a coffee sometime and go over them?”

A reasonable, academic offer. Nothing weird about it.

Except my stomach flipped.

We met at a quiet café just off campus, one of those places that smells like espresso and old wood. I told myself it was professional. We were just talking about research. But then he started asking about me – where I grew up, what I wanted to do after graduation, the kind of questions that feel heavier than small talk.

When he laughed, I noticed how different he looked when he wasn’t in his ‘professor’ mode. Relaxed. Kind. A little awkward, even.

That coffee turned into two hours of talking. And somehow, by the time I walked back to my apartment, I knew I was already in trouble.

Chapter 4:

The semester ended. I submitted my final paper, and just like that, he wasn’t my professor anymore.

A few days later, I got a message.

Dr. Bennett: “So… Now that you’re technically not my student, would it be wildly inappropriate to ask you to dinner?”

I stared at the screen, heart hammering.

Me: “Technically? No. Morally? Probably.”

Dr. Bennett: “I’ll take ‘probably’ as a yes.”

Our first date was at a tiny restaurant downtown, dimly lit and quiet enough to feel like our own little secret. I remember how nervous he looked when I walked in – that tiny pause before he smiled, like he was still trying to convince himself this was okay.

Dinner was easy. Conversation flowed the same way it had in the café, except this time there were no books or papers between us. When the check came, he hesitated. “If we’re pretending this is totally normal,” he said, “I’m paying.”

I laughed. “Then I guess it’s normal.”

Afterward, we walked along the river. I don’t know who leaned in first, but the moment he kissed me, the whole world seemed to go quiet.

It didn’t feel wrong. It just felt real.

Chapter 5:

We kept things private for a while. No social media, no public places near campus. He was careful – maybe a little too careful – and at first, that secrecy stung. But I understood. We were still figuring out what this was.

It turned out to be…everything.

He wasn’t the perfect, composed version of himself I’d seen in class. He was messy, funny, and unexpectedly romantic. He’d make coffee for me in the mornings, play music while cooking, and tease me for my inability to fold a fitted sheet. He’d still challenge me in conversation, still push me to think harder. But now, between arguments, he’d reach for my hand.

Once, I asked him if he ever regretted it – the risk, the timing, all of it.

He looked at me for a long moment and said, “I spent half my life trying to do everything right. You made me realize some things are worth doing wrong.”

Current Status: 

Yeah! I’m still dating my professor. Since I didn’t pursue an academic career after my graduation, it’s less awkward for us now. 

Sometimes, when I tell people how we met, I skip the Bumble part. Not because I’m ashamed, just because it sounds unreal. People don’t expect stories like ours to end well. They expect scandal, disaster, heartbreak.

But sometimes, life doesn’t follow the rules.

Sometimes you swipe right on your professor…and it actually works.