When She Gets Burned

Forbidden Part 2

The sun, a reluctant companion in the sky, cast a hesitant glow over the city, signalling the arrival of a new day. Alani, having emerged from the tangled sheets of the night before, felt a sense of renewal coursing through her veins. The world outside, with its bustling streets and indifferent faces, seemed to bow in acknowledgment of a woman who had tasted the intoxicating elixir of desire. University, once a labyrinth of uncertainties, felt like a playground of possibilities as Alani strolled through its gates. The whispers of her own secrets, the echo of shared laughter, danced around her like invisible confetti. She was over the moon, an ethereal being bathed in the afterglow of a night that had left its mark on her soul.

In the hallowed halls of academia, she encountered Owen, who regarded her with a single knowing look. "Yeah, you definitely had sex last night," he remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

Alani, a grin breaking the surface of her composure, replied, "Is it that obvious?"

As they waited for the elusive creative writing professor to make an appearance, Owen, the relentless interrogator, leaned in with a curious gleam in his eyes. "So, who's the lucky man?" Alani, caught in a moment of recollection, bit her lip, savouring the fragments of last night's memories. The corners of her mouth curved into a mischievous smile as she decided to keep the details veiled in secrecy.

Owen, ever the audacious conversationalist, recoiled in mock disgust. "Come on, Alani! You cannot have intimate flashbacks in front of me. It's too early for that." Their laughter, a shared melody of secrets and camaraderie, echoed through the corridor. In that moment, Alani felt a newfound sense of liberation, as if the night had lifted the weight of societal expectations and granted her the freedom to revel in the unapologetic pursuit of pleasure.

Alani and Owen, ensnared in a conversation that floated somewhere between mundane and absurd, occupied a corner of the classroom like two misfit pieces in a puzzle of academia. The air hummed with the buzzing of fluorescent lights, indifferent to the theatrics of university life. Owen, ever the self-absorbed socialite, prattled on about the latest parties and fashionable soirées that Alani had never dared to grace with her presence. She listened, the corners of her mouth occasionally twitching with amusement, as he regaled her with tales of opulence and privilege.

Unbeknownst to them, the professor slipped into the room, a silent apparition against the backdrop of their chatter. With an unhurried grace, he approached the blackboard, chalk in hand, and began etching his name in large, authoritative letters. Alani, still lost in Owen's tales of extravagance, barely registered the professor's entrance. It was only when the scraping of chalk on the blackboard cut through the air that she shifted her gaze toward the front of the room.

The letters came into focus, forming a name she hadn't expected to see in this context

Ezra Coombes.

Her heart, which had been keeping a steady rhythm in the background of their conversation, faltered for a moment before resuming its beat in erratic stutters. Alani's eyes widened, pupils dilating as the realization sank in like a lead weight dropped into the pit of her stomach. Owen, still blissfully unaware, prattled on, oblivious to the seismic shift in the room. Alani's mind raced, replaying the fragments of the night before like a film strip, each frame exposing a detail she had overlooked in the intoxication of desire.

The professor, having completed the grand proclamation of his name on the blackboard, turned toward the students. His eyes, those that had ignited a fire in the dim-lit bar, met Alani's with an intensity that cut through the layers of her carefully constructed façade.

"Oh shit," Alani mumbled, the words escaping her lips like an involuntary confession.

Owen, his gaze momentarily diverted from tales of opulence, shot her a curious look. "What's the matter?"