Cruel Desire

09.

09.

(Narrators POV)

The air was thick with tension, the kind that precedes a storm. Belle sat in the back row of the lecture hall, her gaze fixed on the professor at the podium. Vivienne. Her name alone was enough to send a wave of turmoil crashing through Belle's carefully constructed composure.

As Vivienne spoke, her voice was the calm in the eye of the tempest, each word measured and precise. Yet, Belle could sense the undercurrent of emotion that threatened to break the surface. It was there, in the briefest of pauses, the subtlest of glances.

The topic of the lecture was love—its philosophical implications, its ethical boundaries. The irony was not lost on Belle. With each sentence Vivienne uttered, the space between them felt both insurmountable and painfully close.

When the lecture ended, the students filed out, their chatter a dissonant backdrop to the silence that hung between Belle and Vivienne. Belle lingered, her fingers tracing the grain of the wooden desk, the need for closure warring with the fear of what it might bring.

Belle found solace in her routine, the ebb and flow of university life a welcome distraction from the turmoil of her heart. Lavinia was her rock, a constant presence that grounded her when the waves of emotion threatened to pull her under.

"Come on, Belle," Lavinia urged, pulling her out of the lecture hall. "You need to eat something, and I won't take no for an answer."

Belle managed a smile, grateful for Lavinia's insistence. The café was alive with the chatter of students, a symphony of youth and ambition. They found a table, and as they sipped their coffee, Lavinia's laughter brought a momentary lightness to Belle's spirit.

Meanwhile, Vivienne's life was a facade of normalcy. At home, her husband Richard's presence was like a ghost, his infidelity a silent specter that haunted their interactions. She threw herself into her work, her research a refuge from the coldness of her marriage.

"Vivienne, we need to talk," Richard said, his voice cutting through the silence of their dinner.

"Not now, Richard," Vivienne replied, her tone final. She couldn't bear another hollow conversation, another empty apology. She arose from the dinner table, seeking a momentary solace in her room. She remembered that she had a book club session tomorrow evening, but for now, she wasn't worried about that. Getting into bed early, she allowed her hazel orbs to fall close.

The book club met every Thursday evening in the cozy corner of the library. Belle had joined on a whim, drawn by the promise of literary discussions and the chance to lose herself in the pages of novels. She never expected that it would become a battleground for her heart.

Vivienne was there too, her presence both a comfort and a torment. They sat across from each other, their eyes drawn to the same lines of text, yet never quite meeting. The air was thick with tension, a palpable force that wrapped around them like a silken thread.

As the discussion flowed around them—characters dissected, themes debated—Belle stole glances at Vivienne. The professor's profile was a study in restraint, her lips pressed into a thin line as she listened to someone else's interpretation of the book.

Belle wondered what Vivienne thought of the protagonist's forbidden love affair, of the sacrifices made for passion. Did she see their reflection in those pages? Did she feel the same ache that Belle did?

When their eyes finally met, it was accidental—a collision of longing and regret. Belle quickly looked away, her heart pounding. She could feel Vivienne's gaze on her, an unspoken question hanging between them.

The book club members continued their discussion, oblivious to the silent battle unfolding. Belle's fingers traced the rim of her teacup, the porcelain cool against her skin. She wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap that separated them, but fear held her back.

Vivienne shifted in her chair, her expression unreadable. Belle imagined the weight of their shared secret—the stolen glances, the unspoken words—pressing down on her too. Did Vivienne wish for more, just as Belle did?

When the book club finally disbanded, Belle lingered. She watched as Vivienne gathered her things, her movements precise, almost mechanical. Their eyes met one last time, and in that moment, Belle saw vulnerability—the cracks in Vivienne's armor.

"Until next week," Vivienne said, her voice barely audible.

"Until next week," Belle echoed, her heart heavy.

And as they walked away from each other, the library door closing behind them, Belle knew that the book club would never be the same. The novels they discussed were mere shadows compared to the story unfolding between them—a tale of longing, missed chances, and the ache of forbidden desire.

The days that followed were a delicate dance—a choreography of stolen glances and unspoken words. Belle found herself drawn to the library more frequently, her heart racing as she anticipated Viviennes arrival. The book club had become her lifeline, a fragile thread connecting her to the professor who both haunted and enchanted her.

Vivienne, too, seemed caught in this silent web. Her lectures became more impassioned, her eyes lingering on Belle during class discussions. The philosophical debates took on new meaning—the boundaries of love, the ethics of desire. Belle wondered if Vivienne was weaving their story into her lectures, disguising it as abstract theory.

One evening, after the book club disbanded, Belle lingered by the window. Rain tapped against the glass, a melancholic rhythm that matched the ache in her chest. She watched as Vivienne walked away, her umbrella shielding her from the downpour. The professors steps were measured, deliberate, as if she carried the weight of their shared secret.

"Belle," a voice interrupted her reverie. Lavinia stood beside her, concern etching her features. Youve been distant lately. "What's going on?"

Belle hesitated, torn between confiding in her friend and protecting the fragile intimacy she shared with Vivienne. "It's complicated." She finally admitted.

Lavinias eyes widened. "Who is it?"

Belle glanced back at the rain-soaked window. Vivienne, she whispered. "It's Vivienne."

Lavinias expression softened. "Oh, Belle." She placed a comforting hand on Belle's shoulder. "Love is never simple, especially when it defies convention."

Belle nodded. "I know. But what do I do? Were both trapped—her in a loveless marriage, me in this unrequited longing."

"Sometimes," Lavinia said, "we must create our own paths. Rewrite the stories that bind us."

That night, Belle lay awake, the rain tapping against her windowpane. She thought of Vivienne, of the way their gazes collided like stars in a cosmic dance. The ache was unbearable, yet she couldnt turn away.

The next book club meeting arrived, and Belle arrived early. She sat in their usual corner, her heart aflutter. When Vivienne entered, their eyes met—a silent acknowledgment of their shared secret. The professors lips curved into a half-smile, and Belles pulse quickened.

As the discussion unfolded, Belle found herself speaking more freely. The characters struggles mirrored her own—the forbidden love, the sacrifices. She wondered if Vivienne heard the echoes too.

When the book club ended, Vivienne lingered. "Belle," she said softly, "meet me tomorrow. The café near the river. Noon."

Belle nodded, her heart racing. She watched as Vivienne walked away, her umbrella forgotten this time. The rain soaked her hair, turning it darker, wilder. Belle imagined kissing the raindrops from her lips.

Here's another chapter!! I'll post again next week. Enjoy. Apologies if recently my chapters seem rushed, I haven't really had any ideas. Anyway, thank you for reading!! 💕🫶🏻🫶🏻