ILLICIT AFFAIRS | WLW

Electric Touch

𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑

The week had been a test of Blair's self-control. Ever since that phone call last Friday night, when Catherine's teasing voice had lingered in Blair's thoughts far longer than it should have, she had felt herself becoming hyperaware of her interactions with the woman. Each of Blair's classes, especially "Exploring Contemporary Spain" and "Cultural Transitions in Society," had become an exercise in maintaining a veneer of professional detachment.

It was Wednesday morning, and Blair sat in the middle row of the lecture hall for "Exploring Contemporary Spain," her pen poised above her notebook as she fought to keep her attention on the discussion at hand. Professor Kingsley—Catherine, her mind whispered traitorously—stood at the front of the room, gesturing toward a map projected on the screen. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, stray wisps falling around her face, and her fitted blouse only served to remind Blair of the woman's effortless grace.

Blair's focus drifted from the content of the lecture to Catherine herself. The way she paced slightly when she was considering a complex question, the way her voice softened when she brought up a poignant historical point—Blair caught herself studying these details more intently than the coursework. Then, there was the problem of Catherine's gaze. Blair was beginning to notice that Catherine's eyes sought her out, again and again, throughout each class. It wasn't anything explicit or obvious, but the more Blair tried to convince herself that it was coincidence, the harder it was to believe.

It didn't help that Catherine seemed to use Blair as her go-to example whenever the opportunity presented itself, her eyes lingering on Blair just a beat too long. "As Blair pointed out in her answer on Franco's cultural policies..." or "Blair's analysis brings us to a larger question..." All week, Blair had mentally cursed Catherine for drawing so much attention to her. She had worked hard to maintain the illusion of a purely professional relationship, especially with Ann and Thomas in the same classes. But Catherine seemed to care little for appearances or implications, and her habitual glances in Blair's direction continued to spark curiosity in their classmates.

Blair couldn't understand it. Did Catherine not care that Ann and Thomas were paying closer attention than ever? Did she not notice the tension between Blair and her friends that hadn't quite dissipated after the whole TA lie? As the days went on, Blair found herself mentally cursing Catherine's carelessness, wondering why she seemed so oblivious—or if it was all intentional.

After the third time Blair had felt Catherine's gaze linger on her longer than necessary during "Cultural Transitions in Society," she could sense Ann and Thomas shooting her questioning looks. When their lecture finally ended, Blair gathered her things as quickly as she could and excused herself, muttering about needing to speak to another professor. She had no such plans but needed the excuse to escape their probing.

Thursday arrived at last, bringing with it a welcome relief. Blair had only one lecture with Catherine that day—Advanced Italian—and Ann and Thomas weren't enrolled in this class. Blair felt a sense of liberation wash over her as she entered the smaller, more intimate classroom. She could glance in Catherine's direction without worrying about her friends noticing or reading too much into it. And she did glance, more than once, as Catherine guided the students through a discussion of 20th-century Italian literature. There was a familiar warmth in Catherine's voice, but an added undercurrent that Blair couldn't quite place.

There was an aura of authority and grace about Catherine that always made Blair's pulse quicken, but today it seemed especially magnetic. It was maddening—this feeling of being drawn to someone she couldn't possibly have. She forced herself to look down at her notebook, scolding herself for indulging in such thoughts.