Lessons in desire

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I hated her.
Or at least, that's what I told myself every single day I walked into her class.

She was cold. Sharp. Always on my case like she had nothing better to do than remind me how stubborn, careless, and impossible I was. I thought she hated me too-her eyes never lingering, her words always clipped, like I wasn't worth the air between us.

But then the coincidences started.
Late nights, empty classrooms, study sessions I swore I didn't need. And suddenly, the teacher I thought despised me was the one sitting across from me, guiding my hand, correcting my mistakes, her touch burning more than her words ever could.

That's when I realized: she didn't hate me.
She hadn't even really noticed me... until now.

And the longer we spent together, the harder it became to breathe around her. I couldn't stand her-but I couldn't stay away either. Somewhere between rolled eyes, slammed books, and stubborn arguments, I started to fall.

What I didn't know was that she was falling too.
And the closer we got, the more dangerous it became.

Because the one thing we weren't supposed to do was want each other.
And now, wanting her is the only thing I know how to do.

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