copulation b.e imagines

Qᴜɪᴇᴛ ʀᴇᴠᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

Billie adjusted her scarf as she slipped into the history lecture hall, the November wind still clinging to her. The room hummed with low chatter and the scratch of pens, but her eyes went straight to the front, where Ms. Evelyn Carrington stood, stacking papers on her desk.

Evelyn Carrington wasn't the kind of teacher who commanded the room with raised voices or dramatic gestures. She was calm, composed a figure out of time herself, with her neatly pinned brown hair streaked with silver and her wardrobe of cardigans and ankle-length skirts. Some students whispered that she was cold or distant, but Billie had never seen her that way. If anything, there was a quiet kindness in her sharp brown eyes and the way she always wrote personalized comments on essays.

"Good morning," Evelyn said, her voice steady as she stepped to the podium. "Today, we're diving into the intricacies of the Treaty of Versailles and its lasting repercussions. Please open your books to page 317."

Billie quickly opened her textbook but found herself distracted. It wasn't unusual—her mind often wandered during this class, though not because she was bored. It was Ms. Carrington. Something about the way she carried herself, the conviction in her words, held Billie captive. But Billie wasn't about to dwell on that too much. She had her studies to focus on, and besides, Ms. Carrington wasn't just her teacher; she was completely out of reach.

The first time Evelyn noticed Billie, it wasn't anything remarkable. Billie had stayed after class to ask a question about her essay, her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears and a nervous energy about her. Her essay had been a sharp critique of the Reconstruction era, impressively detailed for a student so young. Evelyn had read it twice, feeling a flicker of admiration, she rarely allowed herself.

"Your analysis of federal versus state jurisdiction was interesting," Evelyn had said. "You could expand on the social implications more. I'd like to see where your thoughts lead."

Billie had smiled then, a warm, lopsided grin that caught Evelyn slightly off guard. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her with such unguarded enthusiasm.

"I'll work on it. Thanks, Ms. Carrington," Billie had said before leaving the room, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

Evelyn thought little of it at the time, but as the weeks went on, Billie's thoughtful questions and occasional flashes of humor made an impression. She began to anticipate Billie's raised hand during lectures and the way she sometimes stayed after class, chatting about history or dropping in a small joke that made Evelyn laugh despite herself.

Their connection deepened slowly, almost imperceptibly, over the semester. It wasn't planned or deliberate—just a series of moments. Billie asked Evelyn to recommend a book on women's roles during the Civil War, and they ended up talking for twenty minutes about forgotten historical figures. When Billie spotted Evelyn grading papers in the library one afternoon, she brought over a coffee without being asked. Evelyn had blinked in surprise but accepted it with a quiet "Thank you."

They kept their interactions professional, of course. Evelyn was careful about that. But she couldn't ignore the growing sense of ease she felt around Billie, the way the younger woman's presence brightened the gray days of winter. Billie was sharp, curious, and full of a restless energy that reminded Evelyn of her younger self. And Billie—well, she couldn't help but be drawn to Evelyn's quiet intellect and the kindness she saw beneath her poised exterior.

The turning point came in the spring.

It was after a campus panel on historical preservation, which Evelyn had moderated. Billie attended, sitting in the front row with her usual intensity, scribbling notes and occasionally glancing up at Evelyn. When the event ended, Billie lingered, waiting until the crowd had dispersed before approaching Evelyn.

"You were amazing up there," Billie said, her eyes bright.

"Thank you," Evelyn replied, smoothing her skirt. She hesitated, feeling a strange nervousness she hadn't experienced in years. "I'm glad you found it engaging."

"Engaging is an understatement." Billie's smile was soft, a little shy. She shifted her weight, as if debating something. "Would you... I mean, would it be weird if I asked you to get coffee sometime? Just to talk more about this stuff. History, I mean."

Evelyn froze. She knew what she should say. She was Billie's teacher, and there were rules—both written and unwritten. But there was also the quiet yearning in Billie's voice, the sense that this wasn't just about academics.

"I don't think that would be appropriate," Evelyn said finally, though the words felt heavier than she expected. She softened her tone. "But I'm always happy to discuss these topics in class or during office hours."

Billie nodded quickly, masking her disappointment. "Yeah, of course. Sorry—I didn't mean to overstep."

"You didn't," Evelyn said gently. And she meant it. But as she watched Billie walk away, her heart ached with something she couldn't quite name.

The weeks that followed were a test of restraint. Their conversations grew more cautious, though the warmth between them never entirely faded. And then, on a rainy afternoon near the end of the semester, Billie came to Evelyn's office to return a book she had borrowed. She stood in the doorway, rain dripping from her jacket, her eyes searching Evelyn's face.

"I think I'm gonna miss this class," Billie said, her voice quiet.

Evelyn smiled, though her chest tightened. "You have a bright future ahead of you, Billie. You don't need my class to succeed."

"Maybe not," Billie said. She hesitated, then added, "But I think I'll miss you, too."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Evelyn looked at Billie, seeing the vulnerability in her expression, and for a moment, she let herself feel the weight of it. The admiration, the connection, the unspoken something that had been growing between them.

"Billie..." Evelyn began, but she stopped herself. She couldn't—she wouldn't—cross that line. Not now.

Billie nodded, understanding more than Evelyn said aloud. She gave a small, bittersweet smile. "Take care, Ms. Carrington."

"You too," Evelyn said softly.

And with that, Billie left, leaving Evelyn alone in the quiet of her office.

Their story didn't end there, though. Months later, long after Billie had graduated and moved on, they ran into each other at a historical society event in the city. Billie was no longer her student, and Evelyn was no longer her teacher. They were simply two women with a shared passion for history and an undeniable connection.

But that, as they say, is another chapter.

December 11th, 2024

1079 words