Acceptance | ✓

COLLINS

COLLINS

Years back, I fell in love with a student. And years before that, I learned what type of person I was when I was in love.

I didn't need much.

My feelings were enough for me. I didn't need them to be reciprocated. That, or I was afraid of sharing them, and I was better off ignorant about how the people I longed for thought about me. Regardless of whichever it was, I was content.

I didn't need much.

I was content with being in love and content with having the people I cared for in my line of sight.

When I had met Kadiane, his eye bags had been deep, his cheeks had been hollow, and his skin was a sickly off-white—yellow—if you squinted hard enough. It was normal to have a few struggling students in my class. University was hard on people, and I was only a lecturer, and all I could do was observe. I hadn't been in love with him then—No, just worried. I had worried about him. He was my best student. He did well in classes, and he somehow managed to stay on top of things despite looking like he rarely slept.

I remember the first time I called out his name. It was during roll call. A student before with the first name Andrew had already been called, and when I got to Kadiane's name I had simply called him his middle name instead of Andrew to make things easier. He had raised his hand and had smiled at me in such a heartbreaking, tired way that I was certainly sure that I had frowned a little at him back then.

I usually said nothing to students about their habits, but I couldn't help myself one evening at the end of class when Kadiane had come up to my desk to ask me about an assignment's due date. He had leaned on to my desk, holding on to the edges as he frowned and said his words slowly. He looked like he was thinking hard---not like he didn't know what to say, but in a way that hinted to the fact that he was tried and trying not to fall over.

I had licked my lips, barely paying attention to anything he'd had to say to me. Too worried about how he would sway a little and then grip on tightly to the edge of my desk again.

"Kadiane." His name left my lips before I could help myself. His mouth stopped moving, and his brows relaxed, as if he were happy to have a break from trying to find the words in his head. "You look tired."

"I do?"

"Yes," I said, reaching out my hand across my desk before pulling it back to myself. I wasn't sure what I was trying to do then, but it had been reflex. Maybe I wanted to hold his hand—steady him—so that he stopped shaking at the end of my table.

"Did you sleep yesterday?" I asked, and he licked his lips, staring right past me. He hadn't wanted to look me in the eyes, and that was okay. Students didn't have to tell me everything. I was just a teacher that gave them a grade. Their personal life wasn't my business.

"I did," he said, squinting before turning to me. "I always sleep."

I wasn't sure why he told me that. Maybe he had read my mind back then.

"Okay," I said, deciding to leave it at that. The room was silent now. All the students had left, and I had a lecture in twenty minutes, and I was sure Kadiane had somewhere to be too.

"I'm sorry for prying," I said, realizing that he was probably waiting for my answer to his question from before. "What was it about the assignment you were asking me again?"

"I haven't eaten," he said, ignoring my question. "I think I'm a bit shaky because I haven't eaten."

I blinked at him, muttering a small 'oh' under my breath. I stared at him, and he stared back. I hadn't been sure what he had wanted me to do.