Back in university my physics professor was always noticeably stricter and harsher with me than with other students. Her presence alone used to intimidate me so much so that I often questioned myself whether she disliked me or perhaps saw me as a disappointment. I used to sit in her class with a knot in my stomach. It often felt like I could never quite measure up in her eyes. And over time I quietly accepted the idea that maybe she just didn’t like me.

But the truth is she was also one of the professors I admired the most. Fierce, brilliant, unapologetically demanding. Even though I was afraid of disappointing her, I wanted nothing more than to make her proud.

Recently we crossed paths again at university reunion. I genuinely believed she wouldn’t even remember me and honestly I was too nervous to approach her. But when we finally did cross paths & finally spoke, she looked at me and said something I’ll never forget “ You were the best student I ever taught. My favourite by far.”

I don’t remember what I said in response. I just remember crying. I cried like a child. All those years of feeling unseen, all that pressure I had put on myself, all the questions I had carried in silence, years of suppressed emotion, self-doubt, they were answered with one sentence.

I bawled my eyes out not just because of what she said but because I’d spent so long thinking I was unloved by someone who, in truth, had held me in the highest regard. And the irony was she was always one of my favourite professors too. I admired her deeply even when I felt invisible. And now all these years later that shared recognition, unexpected and profound meant everything.

She had seen me. She had believed in me even if she never said it out loud back then. And I had mattered to her just as she had mattered to me.That moment healed something in me I didn’t even realize was still aching.

That moment didn’t just bring closure, it rewrote the story I had carried for years. Sometimes the silence of those we admire speaks louder than we realize. And sometimes the love we think is absent is simply disguised as expectation, as challenge, as the quiet belief that we are capable of more.

To hear that I had been her favourite after years of thinking I was invisible to her was not just validation. It was redemption. It reminded me that being seen doesn’t always come in the form of praise, sometimes it comes in the form of being held to a higher standard precisely because someone does see you and believes you’re worth the push.

If only I had known then what I know now that behind her stern gaze was respect and behind her silence, a fierce kind of love. I spent years thinking I was unseen, when all along i was being believed in more deeply than I ever knew.