Between the desks

Chapter 56

Amren's POV

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of paper and the scratch of my pen against the page. I sat at Professor Olsen's desk, working through the writing test she had given me, my mind wandering despite my best efforts to stay focused. She was across the room, absorbed in her own work, the soft glow of her desk lamp casting warm light over her focused expression. The hour and a half of tutoring was dragging on, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. We still had another thirty minutes, but time seemed to slow down whenever I was in her presence. It was maddening.

I took a sip of my drink, trying to distract myself, to keep my hands busy and my mind from drifting too far into places it shouldn't go. But it was no use. I didn't want to talk about school or writing anymore. I wanted to talk about her. To ask her about life, about her thoughts, her dreams. There was so much I didn't know about her, so much I wanted to understand. The words were trapped in my throat, though, choking me. I couldn't bring myself to break the professional barrier we had drawn between us, even though everything inside me ached to do just that.

Instead, I kept writing. Pouring everything I had into the sentences, each word a reflection of the passion and confusion that I couldn't voice aloud. It wasn't just a writing test anymore—it was my heart on the page. I tried to incorporate all the tips and feedback she'd given me, crafting my sentences with care, hoping to impress her. But more than that, I wanted to reach her. I wanted her to see me, really see me, beyond the student sitting in front of her.

Finally, after what felt like ages, I broke the silence, my voice cutting through the quiet. "I'm done with the writing test." My words were firm, more confident than I felt, but something about the work had made me proud, made me feel like I was starting to understand her guidance.

She looked up from her desk, her gaze locking onto mine. Her eyes were mesmerizing, deep and intense, pulling me in as if they held the answers to questions I didn't even know I was asking. I once read somewhere that the eyes were the windows to the soul. In this moment, I believed it. Her eyes told me things her voice never would—that beneath her composed exterior was a soul full of depth, warmth, and a kindness that she rarely showed the world.

"Let me read it," she said softly, her voice smooth and kind. She held out her hand, and I passed her the notebook. As our fingers brushed, a jolt of energy surged through me, an electric spark that made my heart race. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting too obviously.

I watched her as she read, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The seconds ticked by painfully. What was she thinking? Had I failed to meet her expectations? My confidence began to waver as I waited for her to say something—anything.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she looked up at me again, her expression softening. "Amren, this is really good," she said, her voice calm, but I could hear a hint of pride woven through her words.

I felt my cheeks flush with warmth, the praise hitting me harder than I expected. "Thank you, professor," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Relief washed over me, along with something else—something deeper. Her approval meant everything to me.

She smiled then, a genuine smile that lit up her face in a way I had rarely seen. It wasn't the polite, professional smile she often gave in class. This was something more personal, more intimate. I had only ever seen her smile like that once before, at the bar, when I watched her from across the room as she laughed with coach Johansson. Seeing that smile directed at me now made my pulse quicken, my heart hammering in my chest. The way her nose crunched when she laughed made me weak in the knees. 

"I think you've worked hard enough for today," she said, leaning back slightly in her chair, her tone softer now. "For next week, I want you to write an essay on any topic you like. Something that interests you."

I nodded, grateful for the lighter assignment. "I'll do that, professor. Thank you."

Her smile lingered, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world, suspended in this small, quiet space. "Pick something you're passionate about," she added. "I think you'll write better that way."

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing something personal, something that mattered to me, and I nodded again. "I will."

She handed me back my notebook, and I gathered my things, the weight of our interaction still lingering in the air between us. "Thanks for today, professor," I said, standing up from my chair. My voice sounded steady, but inside, I was buzzing with a thousand unspoken words.

"No problem, Amren. See you on Monday." Her voice was light, but her gaze lingered on me, just for a moment longer than usual.

I gave her a small smile, my fingers brushing the edge of the desk as I turned to leave. I hesitated for just a second, as if something was keeping me there, tethering me to her. I mumbled a quick goodbye and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind me.

The second the door clicked shut, I let out a deep breath I didn't even realize I had been holding. My head was spinning, my heart racing. This wasn't just about school anymore. It wasn't just a tutoring session. There was something more here, something simmering beneath the surface, something I didn't quite understand but could feel so intensely.

I leaned against the wall outside her office, staring down at my notebook. I had to start the work she assigned. I had to impress her. But it wasn't just about impressing her anymore. It was about showing her the parts of me I couldn't put into words, the feelings I couldn't express in conversation.

With a deep breath, I pushed away from the wall and started walking, my thoughts a tangled mess. This essay would be different. This time, I was going to show her everything.