𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 25: "𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒌𝒂"

୨୧
France, Paris
ISP
O.T.M.
──── ୨୧ ────

The numbers on the board blurred as I sat at my desk, staring through them rather than at them. Mrs. Carter—Beyoncé—was up there, explaining some new math concept with her usual grace, but something was off. It wasn’t her teaching; that was always flawless, every word precise, every equation written with the elegance of someone who was born to communicate. No, it was her. The way her shoulders slumped just slightly, how the spark in her eyes seemed dimmer today. The energy that always surrounded her felt... drained.

I tapped my pencil against my notebook, pretending to take notes, but my eyes stayed glued to her. She moved through the class as if on autopilot, her voice soft but lacking the usual vibrancy I adored. It gnawed at me, this strange change in her. I’d seen her teach a hundred times, and every time she was this bright, radiant presence. But today? She looked like a shadow of herself.

I scanned the room. The other students didn’t seem to notice. Of course, they wouldn’t. To them, she was just another teacher. They didn’t see her the way I did.

The bell rang, snapping me back to reality. People started gathering their things, chattering about weekend plans and assignments, but I stayed seated, my eyes following her as she moved to the front of her desk, gathering her notes with a quiet sigh.

I couldn’t leave her like this.

As the last of my classmates shuffled out the door, I stayed put, my heart thudding a little faster now that it was just the two of us. I watched her carefully, the way her fingers moved absentmindedly over her notes, her gaze distant.

“Mrs. Carter,” I called softly, almost hesitant to break the silence. She didn’t look up at first, so I said it again, a little louder. “Beyoncé.”

Her head snapped up, and for a second, her eyes locked onto mine. There it was—that flicker of something behind her tired expression. She smiled, but it was small, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said, her voice warm but weary. “What’s up?”

I stood, pushing the chair back as I made my way to the front of the room, pretending to fuss with my books to keep my hands from shaking. “Are you okay?” I asked, glancing up at her.

Her smile faltered for just a second before she covered it with another practiced one. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I bit my lip, not sure how to put it into words. How could I tell her that I could see the weight she was carrying, the exhaustion she was trying to hide? “You just seem... off today. Not like yourself.”

She chuckled softly, her fingers brushing her forehead as if wiping away some invisible thought. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just... life, I guess.”

I stepped closer, my heart racing, wishing I could reach out and hold her, comfort her the way she always comforted me. But I held back, because this wasn’t about what I wanted. This was about her. “You don’t have to hide it from me, you know.”

Beyoncé sighed, her shoulders dropping a little more as if she were letting go of something. She looked at me, her eyes softer now, more vulnerable. “It’s complicated, Onika. I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”

I shook my head quickly. “You could never be a burden. I care about you.”

Her eyes flickered with something, a quiet warmth that made my heart skip. “I know, sweetheart. I know you do.”

For a moment, there was silence between us, the kind that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. I wanted to ask more, to press her, to demand that she tell me what was wrong so I could fix it. But instead, she shifted the conversation, her lips curling into a soft, more genuine smile.