𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 1: "𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏"

୨୧
France, Paris
ISP
O.T.M.
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It’s been five years since my mother and I moved to Paris, and let me tell you, Paris is like a drug, the kind you don’t ever want to stop taking. At first, I thought I’d hate it—starting high school so far away from home, trying to fit in with French kids who probably had their whole lives mapped out by the age of five. But Paris has this way of creeping into your soul. The flowers, the croissants, the smell of coffee and chocolate in the air, the language that rolls off people’s tongues like music. I never imagined I’d fall so hard for this city, but here I am, in my last year of high school, more in love with life than I’ve ever been. More in love with...her.

Mrs. Carter.

My French and math teacher. My secret obsession.

I know how that sounds—crazy, delusional—but I swear I’m not. It’s just, she’s everything. And I mean everything. Every detail about her, every movement, every single word she speaks, pulls me in deeper. She’s married, of course. And not just to anyone, but to him, Mr. Carter—my history teacher, no less. I’ve spent the last two years pretending he doesn’t exist, even when he’s standing right in front of me, droning on about World War II or the French Revolution.

It’s her I see. It’s always her.

But it doesn’t stop there. Their daughter, Ivy—my academic rival, the girl who always beats me by half a point on every damn test—is in the same year as me. The whole Carter family is like this perfect, impenetrable fortress. And I’m the one stuck outside, looking through the cracks, hoping for just a glimpse of her.

It’s pathetic, I know. I’d never admit it out loud, not to anyone. Not even to myself most days. But I can’t help it. Mrs. Beyoncé Carter is the only person who’s ever made me feel this way, and I hate that I’m powerless against it. It’s like she cast a spell on me, and every time I see her, I fall deeper under her control.

I watch her constantly. From the moment she steps into class, I’m tuned into her every move, every expression, like I’m studying for the most important test of my life. I take it all in—the way her long blonde hair falls down her back, shimmering when the sunlight hits it just right. She usually wears it straight, but when she curls it, the loose waves make her look like a goddess. She always wears these stunning outfits, like she just stepped off the runway. Even when she’s casual, she’s effortlessly elegant, her clothes hugging her perfect curves, her hourglass figure impossible to ignore.

Her smile though… God, that smile. It could melt the entire city. She has these cheek dimples that appear when she laughs, and it’s like they’re trying to pull me in deeper, like they know I can’t resist. She has this soft, yet confident way of speaking, and when she explains a math problem, I don’t even hear the numbers. I just listen to the sound of her voice, the way her lips form each word so perfectly.

And those lips... full, soft, with this beautiful shape that makes me want to kiss them. It’s insane how much I want her. I catch myself staring at her mouth during class, imagining what it would be like to taste her, to feel her lips on mine, to lose myself in her completely.

I know I’m being obsessive, but I can’t stop. There’s something about her that I can’t shake. The way her eyes reflect green when she wears brown or dark eyeliner, as if the color of her soul changes with her makeup. The way her long, elegant fingers trace across the whiteboard, solving equations I don’t even care about. I want to touch her, feel her skin beneath my hands, kiss her fingertips, her wrists, her neck. Every part of her.

Her legs, smooth and long, have been the subject of more than a few late-night fantasies. I imagine running my hands up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin, pressing my lips against her as she moans my name. It’s an impossible fantasy, of course. She’d never see me that way, but I can’t stop myself from wanting her.