My Teacher and I

Chapter Eleven

It's been a week since Mathew and I shared that intimate moment. The days have passed in a blur, but every glance, every subtle smile exchanged between us carries a weight that only we understand.

I sit at my desk, doodling absentmindedly in my sketchbook, trying to focus on anything but the thoughts swirling in my head. I've been sketching Mathew lately—a habit I've picked up since our picnic. His features are etched into my mind, and I can't help but draw him every chance I get.

Suddenly, the sound of Mr. Harris clearing his throat pulls me out of my thoughts. "Alright, class, listen up," he begins, his voice as commanding as ever. "In a few weeks, we'll be heading to Athens for an immersive learning experience. You'll have the chance to engage with the locals and practice your Greek firsthand."

A buzz of excitement ripples through the room. The idea of traveling to Athens is thrilling, but the thought of spending more time with Mathew—Mr. Harris—outside of the classroom sends a wave of nervous excitement through me.

He continues explaining the itinerary, talking about historical landmarks, museums, and the language immersion sessions. But my mind keeps drifting back to that night. How things changed between us. And now, there's a whole trip ahead of us, where we'll be in close proximity.

I glance up at Mathew. He catches my eye for a brief moment, but his expression remains professional, giving nothing away. Still, I can see the flicker of something behind his calm demeanour—a shared secret, a connection we both feel.

I quickly look back at my sketchbook, hiding a small smile. The trip to Athens is going to be... interesting. The announcement of the trip to Athens has the whole class buzzing with excitement. Students chat about the places they want to see, the food they'll try, and the adventures they'll have. But for me, the trip means something else entirely. It means more time with Mathew—away from the school, away from the usual boundaries.

As the days pass, I can't stop thinking about what happened between us. The stolen moments, the glances, the unspoken connection. It lingers between us like a secret thread, one that neither of us acknowledges in words but is always there.

During Greek class, I catch myself staring at Mathew more often than I should. He stands at the front of the room, teaching as if everything is normal, but there are moments when our eyes meet, and something flickers—something we both feel but can't express.

One afternoon, after class, I linger behind as the other students file out. Mathew is busy gathering his things, but I can tell he knows I'm still there. I clear my throat, and he looks up, his expression softening when he sees me.

"Atticus," he says quietly. "You need something?"

I hesitate, my heart racing. "I... just wanted to ask if you're excited about the trip."

He smiles slightly, but there's a tension in his eyes. "It'll be a good experience for all of you," he replies, keeping his tone professional. "Athens is an amazing city."

"Yeah," I say, fiddling with the strap of my bag. "I'm looking forward to it."

For a moment, the room feels too quiet, too charged. Mathew looks like he wants to say something more, but then he catches himself and glances at the door.

"We should keep things... simple, Atticus," he says, his voice low but firm. "What happened between us, it... it can't happen again."

The words hit me like a punch, but I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I get it," I say, though the ache in my chest tells me otherwise. "It's just—well, never mind."

I turn to leave, but before I can walk out the door, Mathew's voice stops me.

"Atticus," he says softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

I pause, looking back at him. "You didn't," I lie. "I'll see you in Athens, Mr. Harris."

With that, I walk out of the room, my emotions swirling. As much as I want to forget, it's impossible. The trip is coming, and so are the complications that come with it.

I couldn't stay at school today. Not after everything that happened. Not after the way Mathew—Mr. Harris—looked at me, talked to me, like none of it mattered. Like what we shared didn't mean anything. I thought it did. I thought we had something.

But I was wrong.

Sitting in class, I felt numb, my mind completely elsewhere. It had been a week since that night. A week since we kissed, since he touched me in a way that made me believe there was something real between us. But the next morning, the way he distanced himself, those cold words he said... it broke me.

I can't even remember what subject I was supposed to be paying attention to. Everything felt like background noise, like I wasn't even really there. When the bell rang, I stood up, but instead of heading to my next class, I found myself walking toward the parking lot. I couldn't face Greek class, couldn't sit there and look at him, knowing that things would never be the same.

I needed to get out of here.

I grabbed my bag, threw it into the car, and sat there for a second. My hands gripped the steering wheel, but I wasn't really thinking about where I was going. I just knew I had to leave. I couldn't stay here, not today.

The school slowly disappeared in the rearview mirror as I drove through the streets, my mind racing. I kept replaying everything in my head—his touch, his kiss, the way he whispered my name. And then his words afterward, telling me to leave, to forget about it, like it was some mistake. But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Not to me.

I found myself driving toward the edge of town, to the open field I always went to when I needed to think. It was quiet there, peaceful. No one around. Just me and my thoughts.

When I got there, I parked the car and walked out into the field. The wind was cold against my skin, but I didn't care. I needed the space, needed the air. I sat down, hugging my knees to my chest, staring out at nothing.

How could he say those things? How could he act like what happened between us wasn't real? I thought I knew him. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could figure it out. But now, I feel like an idiot for even believing that.

Tears started building in my eyes, and I wiped them away, but they just kept coming. I hated feeling this way—so exposed, so vulnerable. I let myself fall for him, and now I'm the one left feeling like this. Alone. Hurt.

"I thought you cared about me," I whispered, my voice barely audible against the wind.

The words felt hollow. Like saying them out loud didn't change the fact that I was sitting here, alone, while he was probably still at school, pretending like none of this even mattered. Pretending like I didn't matter.

I stayed there for a while, not knowing what to do. My chest ached, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about him. How do I just move on from this? How do I face him tomorrow? Or the next day? We're supposed to be going to Athens soon. How the hell am I supposed to handle that?

I don't have any answers. I just... I just need time. Time to figure out how to deal with this. Time to stop feeling like my heart is being ripped apart every time I think about him. But right now, I don't know how to do that.

So, I sit there, letting the wind whip through the grass, watching the sky turn a dull grey.