Chapter 4:

"Student' perspective"

The Student:

The First Week

She walks in late

not out of carelessness,

but as if time itself waits for her arrival.

A hush spreads through the room

as though the walls too have noticed her.

I don't breathe,

afraid the sound might disturb the elegance of her silence.

She isn't like the others.

Young yes.

But not in the way that invites mockery.

She's composed. Too composed.

Her eyes, green like rivers that remember

every soul that drowned in them,

slide across the class,

resting on me for too long

or maybe not long enough.

And when she speaks,

it's not the lecture that seduces

it's the precision.

Each word chosen like a weapon,

soft and sharp,

like a sword carved from silk

tipped with a single drop of ink.

I start pretending to take notes.

Truth is, I write her name.

I rewrite it in the margins,

in cursive, then in block,

then in the language of yearning

where no one else dares to read.

She mentions Greek myth once

and my mind folds into it,

folds her into Athena's robes,

into Medusa's gaze.

Somehow, she's both.

Godlike and cursed.

Regal and venomous.

And I… I'm the foolish girl

who leans too close to the edge.

I raise my hand just to hear her say my name.

And when she does,

it tastes better than anything I've ever earned.

I imagine what it might sound like

if she said it in private,

like a secret,

like a possession.

The bell rings.

Everyone leaves.

I linger.

She notices.

"Is there something else you needed?"

Her tone is professional

but something lingers in her pause.

A hesitation, a sliver.

Enough for me to fall through.

"No," I lie.

"Yes," I think.

Everything.

I leave with the taste of her voice in my ears,

and the unbearable ache of knowing

I'm already hers,

and she doesn't even know it yet.

But she will.

Oh, she will.