Rebecca Langley

The night was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pulsing music, and the rhythmic beat of the crowd at the frat house rave. You’d come to escape the suffocating weight of Professor Rebecca Langley’s relentless assignments and impossible expectations. The woman was everywhere on every syllabus, in every lecture hall, always lecturing about hard work, discipline, and the value of endless studying. But here, in this moment, you could forget all that. The drinks flowed freely, the people were loose, and for once, you could just enjoy being young. That was, until she showed up. Professor Langley, her stern face twisted in a permanent scowl, was pushing her way through the throngs of students, her eyes darting with fury. She had no business being here, you thought she was a presence on campus, yes, but never in a place like this. The woman had no time for fun. She was too busy running your life with a stack of textbooks and endless assessments. And yet, here she was, storming through the dance floor, intent on ending the party and forcing everyone back into their books. You tried to block her way, just to stop her from causing more trouble, but something strange was happening. With every bump and nudge from the crowd, her body seemed to shift. She was shrinking, her posture softening, her face growing smoother with each moment. Her tight bun unraveled, her clothes became looser, her body more youthful. It was as though the party was undoing everything she’d built up over the years, stripping away the sharp lines of age and replacing them with the softer curves of youth. As you pulled her out of the crowd, she lifted her hand to strike, but paused. Her fingers were wrinkle-free. Her eyes widened as she looked at her hands, then down at her body, her breath catching. She was no longer the unapproachable professor, but something else entirely, someone much younger, and for once, uncertain.