𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝑡𝑤𝑜

"Marcus Aemilius Caesar": a name fitting for a historian and a literature professor's son. Our first conversation he tried to strike up was about this—he noted the irony of our names because we were reading Julius Caesar for our debut in Shakespeare (his name and mine were both characters appearing in the play). He used the opportunity to bring up the fact we'd also be reading Macbeth, where my name this time featured as a king.

I didn't have much to say to him, but he was eager to make the conversation last. He must've wanted some sort of reaction out of me. Talking to a dead stare can't have been satisfying to a man that prided himself in making everyone laugh.

Apart from that, we never had any interactions. He didn't like my stoic expression, and I didn't like forcing myself to adhere to his expectations. I found polite chuckles to be stifling.

Atlas had never been in his classes before. In an AP honors program, she used her spare time "tutoring" students to earn cash.

This was to say, she wrote papers for the rich kids with parents working overseas. In fact, she was so good she could target a specific grade if asked (and paid) to do. It was funny because she was genuinely good at teaching, too. Joining her study group consisted of at least two dozen kids desperately reaching for get one of the five spots allowed in one library study room every exam season.

Needless to say, as someone so popular, she never ran out of tutorees.

It was thanks to this side job that Atlas and Marcus met. One of her friends had gotten a failing grade for a paper she had "helped write". She had gone to confront him, and he in turn (rightly) accused her of writing the paper.

It feels strange to refer to him by his first name, but everyone usually called him 'Marcus' by his own request. He was a friendly teacher that didn't mind breaking the structure of hierarchy. That's why it was so strange Atlas that always called him Aemilius. When asked why, she'd say "It's his name, isn't it?" Having a unique name to call him by felt so... intimate. Her sly smile always merited the questions that followed.

You can speculate the grade was why Atlas was so openly flirting with him, but I found it was just the way she flirted with anyone. It made others a bit bashful to watch, but unable to look away. Her flirting concealed under the pretense of formality made for teasing looks and coy smiles—from both sides.

But Marcus couldn't be so blatant in his interest. In a class semi-filled with students still clearing out, he felt then a sense of responsibility immediately swallowed by his desire for her. Watching him struggle with his choices made Atlas all the more daring in her flirtation.

It ended the way you'd expect: the grade was "reviewed", and full marks were given.

And as intriguing as their first impressions of each other, the attraction for Atlas was fleeting. There'd be no reason for her to interact with a married man in such fashion outside of that conversation, and he soon slipped from Atlas's mind.

The brief meeting had differing consequences on Marcus. What had started as a small interest became intrusive thoughts outside of the office, which developed into a deep imprint on his mind. He could not forget her.

However, time softens everything. As much as I was piqued by Atlas, I was neither rich nor sociable, which meant over time, I'd forget about her. Once the novelty wears off, logic kicks in. I knew better than to chase after something unattainable.

If nothing happened, I probably would've graduated without ever having known about them. Goes to show how coincidence and determination can change just about anything.

The next semester, I, by chance, took a humanities course Mr. Caesar was teaching, which was unusual for an English teacher. It was a complete coincidence I was in the same class as Atlas.

These were all small, minuscule differences that no one pays any mind, but one change was undeniable. It was the friction that ignited the wildfire, the spark that started the scandal of the campus: an almost unnoticeable pale line of skin on Caesar's fourth finger, where used to reside his wedding band.