blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{4} this is me trying

Taylor's POV:

It's Friday night, and the stack of exams in front of me feels like it's grown twice its size since I started grading an hour ago. I have my laptop open on the coffee table, a spreadsheet ready for scores, but the papers feel heavy in my hands. I rub my eyes, the words blurring together for a moment, and remind myself that I'm almost halfway through.

Most of the answers are predictable, some even surprisingly insightful. It's one of my favorite parts of teaching—seeing a student's thoughts unfold on paper, catching a glimpse of how they see the world. But, as I flip to the next paper, I see Aurora's name scrawled at the top. My stomach tightens.

I've tried to reach her over the last couple of weeks, keeping my tone friendly but firm, offering her help without pushing too hard. But she's kept her walls up. Every interaction is like walking a tightrope. I never know which version of her I'm going to get—cold and distant, or sharp-tongued and angry. Part of me dreads looking at her answers, afraid of what I'll find or won't find at all.

I pull the paper closer, skimming through the lines. Her handwriting is messy, and I can tell she rushed through it, but at least it's complete. The essay prompt was about examining a character's choices in a novel we read together as a class, and as I read her response, I'm surprised. She wrote about feeling trapped, about making mistakes because sometimes it feels like there's no other option.

It's not a perfect essay—far from it—there are a lot of mistakes, especially with grammar and spelling, but there's something raw and real in her words. A part of me aches for her, wondering what exactly she's going through. I make a note in the margin, encouraging her to expand on her ideas, and give her a passing grade. I can't help but feel it's a small victory.

I'm about to reach for the next exam when my phone buzzes on the table, the ringtone breaking the quiet. I see Blake's name flash across the screen. Thank god.

"Hey, stranger!" I say, leaning back on the couch.

"Hey, you buried under a mountain of papers again?" Blake's voice is light, but I can hear the concern there. We've been friends long enough for her to know when I'm stressed.

"Only a small mountain," I joke, glancing at the pile. "But it's manageable. Just working my way through the first exam of the year."

"On a Friday night? That's sad, Tay." I can picture her shaking her head, that familiar teasing smile of hers. "You should be out celebrating the end of the week."

I laugh, but it sounds a little forced, even to me. "I know, I know. But I want to get ahead so I can actually relax this weekend."

"Well, how about you put down the red pen and come out tonight? A bunch of us are hitting up that new bar on 5th. You could use a drink—something other than coffee." There's a playful note in her voice, but I can tell she's being serious. Blake has always known when I need a break, even when I don't want to admit it myself.

I hesitate, glancing down at the papers scattered across my coffee table. Part of me wants to say yes, to throw on something cute and forget about work for a few hours. But the thought of it—of getting dressed, of dealing with crowded spaces and small talk—makes me uneasy. Besides, going out means food and drinks, and that's an entirely different level of stress I'm not ready for tonight.

"I appreciate it, but I think I'll pass," I answer eventually, trying to sound casual. "I've got too much to finish here."
Blake sighs on the other end. "You know, you're allowed to have fun once in a while, right? And you can take a break without feeling guilty about it."

"I know." I twist the pen in my hand, feeling the weight of her words settle on me. "But I'm really behind, and I'd just end up worrying about it the whole time."