𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬.
Love is hope for the hopeless and sin for the saint. Love makes you do things you never intended to do, but it's distinct when you hold hands and promise to behold each oth...
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This is not a classroom; this is an open-air fish market. I tried to focus on my notes, but every single person-boys included-seemed to have collectively lost their minds.
"Did you see his latest clip? Oh my God, the way he looked into the camera!" one of the girls squealed, her voice filled with unrestrained excitement.
Another joined in. "He has such an intense vibe. It's like he's dangerous, but in the best way possible. Hands down, the hottest guy I've seen. I bet his voice will be even hotter in person. Totally Greek God vibes!"
I clenched my pen so hard I was surprised it didn't snap in two. Greek god? Really? The man ate stale jail food and probably hadn't seen a skin care in months, but sure, let's crown him Zeus.
Aisha slid into the seat next to me like a storm. "You are such a bitch," she declared with zero preamble, shoving her phone in my face. On the screen was a news clip of Rutvik-Prisoner 704, as they loved calling him-with his face blown up for the world to drool over. The dim lighting of court room, the smile, the whole bad-boy aura-it was almost unfair.
I pushed her phone away. "What's your problem now?"
"My problem," she hissed, "is that you never told me your prisoner guy was walking male fanfiction! You're sitting on a goldmine of hotness, and I had to find out through news anchors! Shameful behavior."
I rolled my eyes. "He's not my prisoner. And his looks have no bearing on his case, thank you very much." Aisha gasped as if I'd just insulted her entire family tree. "No bearing? No bearing?! Have you seen this man? If he looked at me like that, I'd hand over all my family property and throw in my kidney for free!"
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. The worst part was that she wasn't the only one acting like this. The entire classroom had apparently joined Rutvik's unofficial fan club. Someone even whispered something about 'jail-core chic', which, frankly, should have been illegal in itself.
Aisha elbowed me, grinning like she'd cracked the Da Vinci Code. "Wait... why are you so defensive? Are you... jealous ahh?" I scoffed so loudly I nearly choked on my own breath. "Jealous? Of what? Him? Or the lunatics drooling over him like he's on a dating app for criminals?" She smirked. "I don't know. You tell me, Miss 'His Looks Are Irrelevant.'"
I turned back to my notes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Was I jealous? No. That would be ridiculous. I was a professional, thank you very much. But... maybe I didn't love the idea of Aisha-or anyone else-calling him their Greek god.
Not that it mattered. Not that he mattered.
I tried to block out the chatter, but it was impossible. Every corner of the room was filled with dramatic gasps and over-the-top swooning. "Did you see his eyes? I'd commit a crime just to have him look at me like that," someone gushed from the front row. "Right? Who even cares if he's a prisoner? A face like that should be illegal anyway," another chimed in, followed by a wave of giggles.
