I sat there watching her. I watched her walk through the aisles of chairs, I watched her glance over students' shoulders to read their words, I watched her perch cross-legged on her desk, I watched her watch me. I watched her try to ignore me. I watched her quickly glance at me from the corner of her eyes or through the curtain of dark hair or up from at me through her dark lashes. I watched her not watch me for as long as she could before giving in to temptation and look at me. That's all life was, wasn't it. A succession of moments where you have to decide over and over again whether or not to give in to temptation. A succession of moments where what you most desperately wanted begged you to give in, each moment more excruciating than the last, and when you gave in at last, you had that instant of relief before you stopped and felt the immediate guilt that ensued. Then, the temptation would call to you again, calling your name. Tantalizing you. All day, we played out the role we'd been dealt, the responsible teacher and the diligent student. All day, we watched each other.
YOU ARE READING
Her
Short StorySome say love, it is a river, that drowns the tender reed. Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless, aching need. I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed. It's the heart afrai...
