Between the desks

Chapter 85

Amren's POV

Lily and I stepped into Professor Olsen's classroom, the familiar scent of paper filling the room. I couldn't help but glance her way, anticipating the moment our eyes would meet. For now, she hadn't seen me. We took our usual seats in the front of the room, and that's when she spotted me. Her nod was brief, professional, but I caught the sparkle in her eyes. It sent a strange, electrifying twist through my stomach.

The room was still buzzing with chatter from the other students, so no one seemed to notice our subtle exchange. I pulled out my phone, feeling that rush of excitement I always got when I knew I could be a little playful with her in these moments.

Me: You look good in that suit, professor.

I barely had to wait before my phone buzzed with her reply.

Lizzie: Stop teasing, Amren.

Her response was short, laced with the authority I was all too familiar with, but I knew better. Beneath those words was the teasing tension we'd been dancing around for two weeks now. I grinned, stealing another quick glance at her. Lizzie stood at the front of the room, completely composed, the very image of professionalism, yet I knew she was aware of me, just as much as I was of her.

She strode towards the door and, with a loud thud, slammed it shut. The room fell silent in an instant, the noise evaporating under her commanding presence.

"Good morning, class," she called, her authoritative tone cutting through the air like a blade. The conversations stopped immediately, all eyes turning to her. Everyone, including me, was captivated by the way she owned the room. I was transfixed.

My notebook lay open in front of me, a pretense of attentiveness, but I was already ahead of most of the material thanks to her tutoring me over the last couple of weeks. Still, watching her now, I was far more focused on how she moved, the way her suit hugged her form just right, and the way her voice filled the room.

Lizzie began her lecture, holding up a column she had printed out for everyone to review. She was talking about the nuances of culture in literature, how cultural experiences shape narratives, something we had discussed at length during our tutoring sessions. As she walked around, distributing the printouts, she came to my desk last. Her hand brushed mine lightly when she handed me the paper, and that brief touch sent a warm flush up my neck. I blushed instantly, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips.

To my surprise, it wasn't just any handout. It was the essay we had worked on together last week, an analysis on how different cultures are portrayed in literature. I snorted, unable to hold back a laugh. Was she really going to make us read my work out loud?

Suddenly, Lizzie's voice sliced through my thoughts, icy and sharp. "Amren, care to share what's so amusing with the class?" She was standing directly in front of me now, arms crossed, her expression stern but her eyes glinting with a barely concealed amusement. She was enjoying this.

I fumbled for words, utterly caught off guard. "Uh—" My mind went blank, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. She arched an eyebrow, waiting.

"Well?" she continued, her voice cool and commanding. "Why don't you explain what's so funny? Perhaps we can all enjoy the joke." Her eyes scanned the room briefly, as if inviting everyone else in on our private moment.

I swallowed, trying to gather my composure. "It won't happen again, professor," I said, deliberately emphasizing the word professor, knowing how much she enjoyed hearing it from me. I held her gaze, hoping to communicate more than just my apology with that one word.

For a moment, her lips twitched, the tiniest hint of a smile threatening to break her composure, but she caught herself. Her stern mask stayed in place as she moved on with the lecture, discussing the complexities of cultural analysis in classic literature.

I exhaled slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. There was something exhilarating about the tension between us, the way we could maintain this play in front of everyone else while privately knowing there was so much more beneath the surface. I found myself catching glimpses of her throughout the lecture, following her movements as she paced the front of the room, occasionally letting our gazes meet before she turned away.

Lily leaned in close to whisper in my ear, "What's your deal?" she asked, giving me a puzzled look.

I played dumb, shrugging slightly. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "It's your first day back. Don't piss off the icy bitch," she hissed, her words biting but with a playful edge. Lily had always called her that, ever since she first experienced Professor Olsen's strict teaching style. She had no idea how much that nickname hurts me a bit now.

I gave Lily a gentle nudge, trying to brush off her teasing. "Relax," I muttered, but my attention was already back on Lizzie.

As Lizzie continued with the lecture, her voice even and poised, I couldn't help but admire how effortlessly she commanded the room. She was diving into the nuances of our reading material, pointing out the subtle differences in cultural representation, but all I could focus on was the way her presence filled the space, the way she handled every question with that sharp intellect I'd come to admire so much.

There were moments where our eyes would meet again—just brief, stolen glances that sent jolts of electricity through me. Each time, I had to fight the urge to smile, to give something away, but Lizzie was a master at keeping her cool, even when I could feel the same tension thrumming through her.

By the end of the lecture, my pulse was still racing. I couldn't wait to talk to her alone, to feel that spark between us without the weight of secrecy pressing down. I packed up my things slowly, watching as she dismissed the class with the same authoritative air she'd maintained throughout, her voice smooth and commanding. I knew we'd both been feeling the same tension that lingered in the room.