Beneath The Surface

5

Sophie

The morning sunlight was soft, spilling through my bedroom window and spilling over my sheets as I woke up. I yawned, stretching lazily, still not entirely ready to leave the comfort of my bed. But I had class, and I knew the day wouldn’t wait.

I stood up, running my fingers through my hair as I walked to the bathroom to wash up. My mind was already swirling with thoughts of Ms. Lawson—specifically, the conversation we had last week about Liam. Her words echoed in my head, but it was more than that. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way she said them, the way she looked at me when she spoke, like there was something she wasn’t telling me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing. Her coldness, the professional distance she always kept, seemed to be slipping in moments, little cracks showing where I hadn’t seen them before. I tried not to think too much about it. I couldn’t afford to.

But as I dressed in my usual class clothes, a black skirt and a button-up blouse, the thought stayed with me. I brushed it off, telling myself it was probably nothing. Ms. Lawson was still Ms. Lawson—distant, aloof, and composed. Yet every time I thought I had her figured out, something else happened to throw me off balance.

I packed my things and headed out, the weight of my thoughts following me as I made my way to class. It was a short walk, and the crisp morning air helped clear my head, if only for a moment.

At first, I thought her coldness was just part of who she was—her professional detachment, her no-nonsense attitude. But lately, I’ve started noticing little things. Inconsistent things. Moments that didn’t fit. And they’re confusing me more than I’d like to admit.

It started with her eyes—her gaze always so steady and composed. But then there were those moments when her eyes lingered on me just a second too long, as if she was studying me, almost like she was searching for something. And then, as quickly as it came, the softness would vanish, replaced by that familiar indifference.

I thought maybe it was my imagination, but then there was the day after our conversation about Liam. I had been walking out of class when Ms. Lawson called me back.

"Sophie, wait."

I turned, my heart jumping in my chest. She was standing by the door, a book in her hand. I hadn’t even realized I’d left it on the desk.

"You forgot your book," she said, and there was something in her voice that was different—something softer, almost like… concern? Her hand lingered in the air for just a moment too long before she dropped it back to her side, like she hadn’t meant to offer it in the first place.

I didn’t know what to make of it. I was too stunned to say anything for a beat, but finally, I took the book from her, murmuring a quiet thanks. As I left the room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to that simple exchange than I was picking up.

Then, a few days later, there was another moment, but this one was harder to ignore. Ms. Lawson had been talking about an essay I’d written, and there was something in her eyes when she mentioned it. She was usually so guarded, but that time, there was a flicker of something else in her gaze—something unspoken.

"You’ve been putting a lot of yourself into your writing," she said. "Just… make sure you’re aware of your audience."

It wasn’t exactly a critique, but the way she said it made me pause. Her voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t the usual clipped tone either. There was an undercurrent to it, something I couldn’t quite place. It almost felt like she was speaking from experience, like she knew what it was like to hide behind words.