Hannah. (Van Den Bosch #7)

Chapter 5

5

Hannah

The hall holding the exhibition is still on campus but its distant enough that I decided to take a cab. I flirted with the idea of asking Astrid for a ride, but she’s already done so much for me that I don’t want to intrude.

Immediately upon arriving, I see that it’s a lot more formal than the oddities exhibit from earlier in the week—hence the dress. I’m infinitely grateful that Astrid filled me in before I could show up in a sweater and make a fool of myself.

Soon enough, I find myself standing before the imposing doors of the hall, a thrum of excitement in the air. The setting is like something out of a period drama—opulent chandeliers casting a soft, golden glow, elegant tapestries hanging from the walls, and the hushed whispers of attendees adding to the atmosphere. It’s a concoction of grandeur and mystery, and I feel a twinge of exhilaration.

But at the same time, I sort of feel out of place. Everyone is looking at me with a curious flair, and while I know that most of them are students just like me, being a fresher makes them all feel so imposing. Like they’re grown-ups, and I’m still just a kid, even if that isn’t true. When I looked in the mirror before leaving, I was filled with confidence. Now, not so much. Maybe I’ll feel better after I find Astrid.

Before I can find her, though, I find one portion of the exhibition. It isn’t too crowded here—a lot of people are waiting to receive drinks at the bar—and the solitude of the area makes my palms start to burn with a familiar sensation.

Among the sea of artifacts, my eyes lock onto a small, alluring trinket tucked away in a secluded corner. A pocket watch, intricately designed with floral motifs and adorned with sapphires that glimmer like captured stars. It matches my dress almost perfectly. Holding it in my hands, I sense its weight and history, and for a moment, I feel intimately connected to it.

The thrill of the act surges through me as I slip the pocket watch into my small clutch purse. I feel a rush of adrenaline, an electric pulse of rebellion. Guilt lingers, but the excitement of the steal overshadows it. This trinket is no longer just an object; it’s a secret, a memento of my audacity, a tangible proof of my existence in this world of antique and strange objects from the past.

Walking away, my heart is pounding, but I feel good—great, even. Any doubt I had earlier of feeling too young or unfit for this gathering dissipates. The stolen treasure nestled in my purse is a forbidden prize, and even if no one knows it, I’m suddenly carrying more worth on me than they could ever know. It’s a silent companion and will look perfect among all my other trinkets.

Letting the adrenaline rush ebb away, I weave through the bustling crowd, my eyes scanning for Astrid's familiar face. Spotting her, a grin involuntarily spreads across my lips. “Astrid!” I call out.

She sees me and grins in return, heading in my direction. Astrid looks incredible in a muted silver dress with her long hair slicked back. She pulls me in for a hug, and we embrace tightly.

“Thank you for inviting me.” I gush as we separate. “I never would have had a chance of seeing all these incredible things without you.”

“Of course!” She waves her hand to indicate that it’s no big deal. “I’m glad to have someone I know to sit with. Speaking of, let's get our seats. We can’t miss the first speaker.”

I take one last look at all the displayed artifacts, but Astrid takes my hand and leads me through the crowd to the theater area where the speech will be held. It’s dark, and I don’t recognize anyone else, but that doesn’t matter. I have Astrid.

We find seats in the front row, and I settle into the velvet-lined wooden seat, smoothing my dress as I do so. I hold my clutch in my lap, rubbing my thumb along the shape of the watch within and biting back a secret smile. It doesn’t matter how amazing or boring the speaker is—not when I’ve already gotten something so lovely from the exhibit.

The lights go down even lower, and people around us shush each other. On the stage, a spotlight shines on an antique wooden podium with a thin microphone attached. Astrid is almost stiff with excitement, which amuses me. How good can this speaker possibly be?

The moment Johan steps onto the stage, my eyes widen in sheer disbelief, thoughts clouded by the welcoming applause erupting by the crowd, who seems to recognize him too. Gosh. It’s him, right there, commanding the entire room's attention with his presence. Shock reverberates through me like an electric jolt. Johan, the guy I’ve had this silent, enduring crush on, who seems dead set on ignoring my very existence, is the distinguished speaker tonight. My eyes are glued to him, trying to reconcile the familiar face with the newfound context.

He clears his throat and looks over the crowd, tall and handsome as always. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for joining us tonight. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Johan Bentinck, head of the research project on British heritage. This exhibition is the culmination of years of hard work for my team and me. And they deserve just as much credit.”

There is a brief smattering of applause before he continues. “As custodians of these treasures, it is our responsibility to breathe life back into these silent witnesses of time.” Johan reaches into the depths of the podium and pulls out a stunning emerald pendant mounted behind a small glass frame, holding it up as he speaks.

“Consider this ancient pendant, its delicate filigree telling of a craftsman's dedication, a lover's gift, or perhaps a symbol of hope in the face of adversity. Or the weathered tomes displayed out front, their pages worn by countless hands, bearing the weight of knowledge passed down through generations. In the intricate patterns of this mosaic, we find the artistry of a forgotten past, a testament to human creativity.”

“Gosh, isn’t he wonderful?” Astrid breathes next to me, and I look over at her, frowning when I get a good look at her face. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she is smitten. A bad feeling settles in my stomach, and I absentmindedly press a hand to it.

Johan finishes his speech, thanking his team again and adding, “History, my friends, is not merely a chronicle of events but a mosaic of humanity's collective spirit. It is the story of how we, as a species, have evolved, learned, and persevered.”

The applause this time around is much louder. Astrid is glowing, clapping her hands gently and looking up at Johan like he’s the sun. Crap. Something is going on here, and part of me doesn’t want to admit it. But I have to know.

Confused, I turn to Astrid, desperately hoping for some different explanation. “Do you know him?” I manage to ask, my voice sounding far-off and uncertain.

Astrid's response lands like a punch to the gut. “Of course,” she says, her eyes sparkling with affectionate pride. “Johan's my boyfriend. Come, let me introduce you.”

My heart sinks. How…how can the only two people I know here be dating each other? I’ve heard nothing about Johan having a girlfriend, and even if we don’t text much anymore, he’s still a family friend. I usually hear the news about him from my siblings, and I’m sure they’d have known about it.

The friendship I’ve just forged collides head-on with a sharp pang of jealousy. Astrid and Johan…what am I going to do!? He's not just a distant crush anymore; he’s Astrid’s boyfriend . It’s a twist I hadn’t seen coming, leaving me grappling with all my emotions—longing, disappointment, and resentment.

“Oh, uh, no…that’s okay…” I try to stall, looking around for anyone else I might recognize to get me out of having to face Johan. “I need to use the restroom anyway.”

“That can wait,” Astrid insists, taking my hand again. “Let’s go before he’s swamped by other people desperate to talk to him.”

Summoning every ounce of composure possible, I plaster on a smile. Her grip on my hand is firm, and my attempts to resist her cheerful insistence are futile. I find myself dragged toward Johan, with no chance to stall. For a moment, I attempt to hide behind Astrid as if I can melt into her shadow and escape the unavoidable encounter.

Johan is already talking to an older man who seems to be an academic, but he pivots to smile at Astrid as she approaches. Up close, he looks even more handsome in his navy-blue suit and white shirt, with a few buttons at his neck undone. At first, my attempt at hiding at least stops him from recognizing me immediately. But then…he sees me.

The impact of recognizing me ripples through him, but he manages to keep his expression neutral. Time seems to freeze as I meet Johan’s gaze. His eyes, once so familiar, now hold a hint of surprise and something else—something unspoken, a tension hanging in the air like a heavy fog. For a moment, I’m lost, the memories of our past crashing into the present. Flashbacks of Johan letting me link my arm through his at the horse show, us having dinner by the river after the event, and when I found myself pressed against the desk at Oma’s––

Astrid's voice cuts through the air, shaking me from my thoughts and making my heart skip a beat. “Johan, love, this is Hannah,” she announces with a bright smile, her eyes flickering between us. “My new friend I met at the Oddities exhibit.”

“Hi,” I manage to squeak out, my voice small and unsteady. This is it , I think, the moment we finally talk outside of class. I want to say more, to break the ice with something witty or profound, but my mind draws a blank.

“Hannah,” Johan utters, his voice equally strained. The air between us crackles with unspoken words, a canyon of silence stretching wider with every passing second. Astrid, seemingly oblivious to the tension, continues to smile, unaware of the complex history between us. “Nice meeting you. Astrid has said great things about you.”

Oh, so that’s how we’re going to do it? We’re going to pretend not to know each other even though we’ve been friends….and almost more…for years? It hurts, a dull ache in my chest, but I understand why he’s greeting me this way. What would Astrid say if she knew our history? It might ruin their relationship and my friendship with her.

“Astrid is such an incredible woman; you’re lucky to have her as your girlfriend,” I quip immediately at him, my tone gentle enough to hide the remark underneath.

I don’t want to lose Astrid…not when I’ve just found her. Connections like the one we have are rare. I especially don’t want to lose her because stupid Johan, who wants to ignore my existence, is dating her.

“See?” Astrid loops an arm around me, squeezing me in excitement. “ You are the lucky one, Mr. Bentinck. Everyone seems to get it but you.”

While Johan is saying something to his girlfriend, my eyes flicker away, trying to find anything to focus on in the surroundings–-the muted lighting, the distant murmur of conversations, anything to distract me from this surreal moment. I’m trapped between the past and the present, my 16-year-old self and my 18-year-old self slamming together. All of my feelings for Johan have come rushing back.

I need to get some space. How long can I stand here, desperately trying to navigate the awkwardness of pretending not to know the person I secretly admired for so long?

Astrid looks between us, a frown pulling at the corner of her mouth. It looks like she’s going to ask a question, but Johan speaks up first. “Astrid, I’d like to introduce you to my research team. Shall we?”

He takes her by the arm and steers her away, and her look of uncertainty evaporates now that she’s the center of his attention once more. As they go, she gives me a little finger wave, mouthing the words “See you soon!” behind Johan’s back, leaving me standing here with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

The night wears on, and Johan and I find ourselves stealing glances at each other from across the room. I take a glass of champagne from a passing server, making surface-level conversation with other people at the exhibition. Most of them seem unamused when I mention that I’m a fresher, uninterested in someone so young, but that attitude often changes when I mention my last name.

Hannah, the art history student, doesn’t garner much respect. But Hannah van den Bosch does.

But no matter who I’m speaking to or where I wander in the building, Johan is somewhere within eyesight. He draws my gaze like a magnet—like a single spot of color in a black-and-white room. Unspoken words hang heavy between us, creating an almost palpable tension. It becomes too much, an unbearable weight on my chest, and I decide it's time to escape this suffocating atmosphere. The solitude of my dorm is calling to me.

I slip away from the crowd, my steps purposeful, and I find myself outside the building, waiting for my Uber driver in the cool night air. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, letting it fill my lungs. In and out, in and out, I keep breathing, just trying to let some of the anxiety of the last few hours fade away.

Hearing footsteps on the pavement behind me, I turn, the back of my neck prickling with the feeling of being watched. To my surprise, Johan appears beside me, his hands shoved in his pocket as he looks out down the street. Not at me, I notice. He’s trying to appear nonchalant—like he came out here to get some air, not to see me.

Still looking away, he starts to talk to me. “We're not really together, you know.” His voice is low, a quiet confession hanging between us. “She isn’t my girlfriend, per se. We're just dating.”

Clenching my clutch tight, I try to play it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” He sounds just the slightest bit frustrated. “Me and Astrid.”

Not looking directly at him is driving me crazy. I need to see his face…need to read the emotions in his eyes. All of this is so new to me. Giving in, I turn to stare at him, feeling like I’m being torn in a million different directions. Inside of me, there’s hurt, confusion, and a hint of something I can't quite grasp flickering through my mind one after the other before starting the process all over.

“Okay, and? I’ve got nothing to do with any of that,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intended.

Johan exhales slowly, his posture turning to face me. “Hannah…I know you’re upset because I didn’t text you back,” he starts, his words hesitant, his eyes searching mine for understanding. “But I?—”

“You don't have to justify yourself,” I cut him off bitterly. “I’m just a fresher, after all.”

“That's not what I wanted to say.” His expression’s pained, as if he’s grappling with his own emotions just like I am. The unsaid words hang between us like chasms, widening with every heartbeat. The weight of our unspoken history lingers in the air. “Can we, uh, talk for a minute?”

Talk? About what? About the tangled mess of secrets, the attraction still lingering from years ago, and the unanswered questions between us? My mind races.

In that instant, a car pulls up, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the streetlights. What luck!

“Sorry, my Uber’s arrived.” In a rush, I open the door and slide into the back seat, hoping to leave this bewildering encounter behind. Of course, nothing is ever easy, and when I shut the door behind me, I see the one from the other side opening and Johan sliding inside beside me before closing it with a click. I can't hide my surprise…or my annoyance.

Exasperated, I throw my hands up. “What are you even doing?”

“I just want to talk.”

The Uber driver turns around and gives me a questioning look about my new companion, and after a frustrating moment, I nod to let him know it’s okay. I don’t want to be around Johan, but it’s not like he’s a danger. The car hits the road, and here I am, sharing the same space as the man I was trying to run away from.

Lowering my voice so that only Johan can hear me, I lean slightly closer beside him and say, “You’re my professor, and you’re in a relationship with someone I greatly respect and call a friend—there’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s exactly what I thought when I got your text,” he utters, matching my discretion. “I just didn’t know what to say. Cambridge’s policy strongly discourages facultyfrom having personal relationships with students, especially with undergraduates. And I knew if I saw you again….”

As Johan looks me in the eye, he probably notices my hurt and how much I don’t want to touch this subject. After two years, we are meeting again, but now he’s met someone and, of course, she had to be the only friend I made on campus.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you something.” His words are delivered with a sincerity and humility I didn’t expect, which warms and squeezes my heart at the same time.

“That’s alright.” I close my arms, shrug, and look out of the window. The silence that fills the space between us is deafening, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the car's engine. I steel myself, preparing to endure this awkward ride.

“There’s something else I need to tell you….”

My attention turns back to him at his words. He seems to hesitate, which piques my interest.

“I know who Amelia is.” His words drop into the car like heavy stones, sending ripples out. Damn him. He knows that he’s got me now.

“ What? ” My mind’s reeling, my fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of my seat. Amelia, the woman who had become an unsettling mystery in my life.

Johan soldiers on, not wasting any time now that he has my full attention. “She used to be a professor of archaeology and a researcher here until she mysteriously disappeared twenty years ago,” Johan reveals, his voice measured. “She was here , Hannah. Isn’t it crazy?”

“Why didn't you tell me before?” I demand, my voice laced with hurt, my gaze piercing into his as I shift to face him fully.

“I found out earlier this week when her name popped up in a few papers I reviewed. I planned on telling you.” He holds up his hands to try and calm me down, but in vain. “I swear I haven’t been hiding this from you. I hope you know that I would never do that.”

“How can you be so sure it’s her?”

“She’s Dutch, and her true name is Amelia van Wassenaer. I did a little research and found that van Wassenaer was your grandmother’s maiden name.”

The tension in the air crackles as we finally reach my dorm. With the car rolling to a stop, I don’t have much time left. “Oma never told me that,” I stammer, stumbling over my words. “That’s…well, that’s incredible. I had pretty much given up on knowing anything about her.”

“Me too, honestly.” He looks out the window at the college hall, drawing out a breath, before his gaze finds mine again. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw her name. If you ever want to pass by my department and see her work, I can make it happen.” His tone is tentative, as if testing the waters between us.

Johan's offer catches me off guard, his attempt to bridge the gap between our worlds surprising yet oddly comforting.

I consider him for a moment, the prospect tugging at my curiosity. “Alright, I will.”

My gaze holds his for a moment as if time itself has stopped. His hand lifts from his lap, fingers outstretched like he might touch my cheek, but he catches himself and closes it into a fist instead. The simple movement makes warmth pool in my belly, and my pulse quickens. He wants to touch me…and I want him to touch me, too. There's a powerful magnetic pull, like the gravity between two moons. For the briefest moment, while our eyes are locked, I can feel this invisible force pulling us closer, the urge to bridge the space between us and kiss him surging like a tidal wave.

At first, I’m sure this is just an issue with me, some leftover affection from years ago rising to the surface. But then Johan’s eyes flicker down to my lips, and his tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip. The warmth in my stomach becomes a wildfire. Oh, no. This is bad.

Kiss him ! The part of me that has been into Johan from the beginning chants. Kiss him now!

If he kisses me, I don’t think I’ll resist. But this is Johan Bentinck we’re talking about—he’s a gentleman, and no matter how he tries to word it, he’s dating Astrid in some capacity. So we resist, both aware of the complexity of our situation and the unspoken boundaries that restrain us.

“Let me walk you up…I want to make sure you get there safely.” His voice is husky, his body closer to mine in the backseat than I remember.

That’s just asking for trouble. “…It’s better if you don’t.” And then, because I’m feeling petty, I add, “Tell Astrid I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye.”

“Hannah, wait–” I climb out of the car and shut the door behind me, striding towards my building entrance. As I reach the front door, I’m both relieved and disappointed that he didn't try to follow.

Returning to my dorm, I sink into my bed, the weight of the evening settling over me. My fingers trace the outline of the small trinket I took from the exhibition through my clutch, and I pull it out, feeling the weight of it in my palms as the metal absorbs the warmth of my skin—like it’s a part of me.

Still in my evening dress, I lay back on the mattress and hold the pocket watch to catch the light. It helps me forget about Johan…helps me get control of my rampaging feelings for him that have no place in my life anymore.

First, the necklace from the exposition where I met Astrid, and now this tiny trinket where I met Johan again, each item seems to carry a secret story. Two items since I got to Cambridge…it’s probably too much, too fast. Maybe I should slow down.

Lying there, I’m torn between guilt and exhilaration. I let both feelings wash over me, twirling the chain of the pocket watch around my finger. What a strange evening….

Astrid and Johan together. I’ll have to figure out how to deal with their relationship if I want to keep both friendships. The ghost of the kiss that almost happened in the Uber isn’t far from my mind, but it’s a useless fantasy. This watch and the burning thrill of obtaining it are real. For the rest of the night, at least, I can focus on that.