Between the desks

Chapter 44

Elizabeth's POV

I watched Amren as she walked away, my heart heavy with an unshakeable tension. I had tried to make conversation with her, but it had been a disaster—clumsy and awkward, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. What is wrong with me? I thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as I replayed our interaction in my mind.

I turned to the bar, ordering a glass of wine to take the edge off. The server slid the glass toward me, and I gulped it down in one go, feeling the warmth spread through me. "Another, please," I said with an attempt at casualness. Very classy, I chided myself, as I watched the server pour another generous serving.

"Hey, there you are!" Elle's voice cut through the haze of my thoughts, and I turned around to see her weaving through the crowd, her face lit up with excitement. She walked towards me and stopped before me.

"Hey!" I shouted back, trying to match her enthusiastic tone over the loud music. "Let's dance!" she yelled in my ear, her eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that comes only from a few too many drinks.

"I have to go to the bathroom; I'll join you after!" I replied, forcing a smile even as my stomach twisted with anxiety. I was tipsy from all the wine, and I could feel my nerves settling, but Amren's piercing gaze lingered in my mind, making it hard to shake the feeling of unease.

I made my way to the bathroom, and as I entered, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was still in place, and my makeup was intact. Not too shabby, I thought, momentarily reassured. But just then, I heard a loud crash behind me, followed by a frustrated "AUCH!"

"Hey, are you okay in there?" I called out, concern creeping into my voice.

"Yes, I'm fine! Thank you!" came the irritated response from the other side of the door.

Moments later, the door swung open, and to my surprise, it was Amren who emerged. I caught her reflection in the mirror as she stepped out, her expression one of irritation mixed with something I couldn't quite describe.

"Are you okay?" I asked instinctively, my voice laced with genuine worry.

"What do you care?" she snapped, and my heart skipped a beat at the sharpness of her tone.

"What do you mean?" I countered, taken aback by the bite in her voice.

"In class, you're all icy and unkind. But now you talk to me like you care. What do you care?" Her words cut deeper than I expected, the sting of her accusation hitting home. I knew I had a reputation and I didn't blame her for feeling this way.

"I understand your reaction, but I'm just asking if you're okay. I don't want you to get hurt," I said, trying to remain calm despite the flutter of anxiety in my chest.

She sighed heavily, a sound that carried the weight of frustration and maybe something else.

"Whatever," she muttered, clearly inebriated and defensive.

"Amren, are you hurt?" I pressed, my voice tinged with urgency.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, rolling her eyes. I could see her composure slipping, the alcohol softening the edges of her usually sharp demeanor. I took a deep breath, my heart racing in response to her emotional turmoil.

"I'm glad," I said softly, trying to bridge the gap between us. But instead of engaging further, she turned and walked away without another word. She hates me.

My mind was a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions. I don't want her to hate me, I thought, but deep down, I understood her reaction. I was the professor who had always kept her distance, maintaining an icy facade to protect myself and my career. I quickly finished my business and stepped out of the bathroom, my heart still heavy with concern.

As I walked back toward the dance floor, I spotted Elle waving at me, clearly in high spirits, her laughter ringing out above the thumping music. I tried to push Amren from my thoughts, a task that felt impossible as I weaved through the crowd. I could still feel the tension of our earlier encounter, a weight I couldn't shake off.

I joined Elle on the dance floor, letting her infectious energy pull me in. We danced for hours, our movements fluid and carefree. Sometimes the rhythm was sensual, other times it was just plain fun, a release from the emotional strain that had followed me. Although I felt no romantic connection to Elle—she was undeniably attractive—I couldn't deny that she was an excellent dancer, and I enjoyed her company.

As we moved to the music, I lost myself in the rhythm, trying to drown out my thoughts of Amren and the turmoil between us. But even as I laughed and swayed, her image loomed in the back of my mind, refusing to let me forget. Why is this so complicated? I thought, as I let the music carry me away, hoping it would drown out my spiraling emotions, if only for a little while.