CHAPTER 6 : LINES WE PRETEND DON'T EXIST
1408 Words
I didn’t realize how deeply his late-night message had carved itself into me until I walked into class the next morning. It felt like every heartbeat echoed with his words.
I can’t stop thinking about you… You come second… I don’t want to stop.
Dangerous words. Reckless words. Words I should have ignored.
But I didn’t.
When I stepped into the lecture hall, the air between us shifted instantly. He was already there, leaning slightly over his desk, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose as he marked some papers. The moment he lifted his eyes and saw me, everything inside me softened.
There was no hesitation this time.
No avoidance.
Just a quiet warmth in his gaze—gentle, familiar, forbidden.
He didn’t smile fully, but his eyes did. And that was enough to send a wave of heat rolling through me.
I walked to my seat, each step feeling heavier, like I was crossing a line I could never uncross. When I sat down, the butterflies in my stomach refused to calm. I tried to focus as more students trickled in, filling the hall with chatter and laughter.
But the only person I was aware of… was him.
He began the lecture with more energy than yesterday. His voice was richer, more alive. It almost felt like he was trying to distract himself with the subject matter—or distract me. He avoided looking in my direction for the first twenty minutes. Then, slowly, almost against his will, his eyes skimmed over the room and found mine.
The impact was immediate.
A spark.
A pull.
A silent understanding.
He looked away too quickly, clearing his throat before continuing the lesson. But I saw it—the slip. The c***k in the wall he was fighting to keep up.
Halfway through the lecture, he walked down the aisle between the rows of seats, discussing a case study. When he reached my row, he hesitated. Just a second. Just enough for my breath to catch.
Then he moved on.
But the scent of his cologne lingered in the air around me—fresh, warm, unmistakably him. My pulse thudded wildly.
When the class ended, students rushed to him again, eager to ask questions. I stayed back, pretending to arrange my books slowly, waiting for the crowd to thin. But the longer I lingered, the more I wondered if I was doing the wrong thing. Maybe I should give him space. Maybe I should let him decide if he wanted to talk.
I sighed and stood, ready to leave.
“Lena.”
His voice was soft but unmistakable.
I turned. The lecture hall was almost empty now. He stood near his desk, hands in his pockets, looking far less composed than usual.
“Can we talk for a moment?” he asked.
My heart raced. “Yes… of course.”
He nodded once, as if steadying himself, and waited until the last few students left. When the door finally closed behind them, the silence between us grew heavier.
He took a slow breath.
“About last night…” he began.
I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to explain anything.”
He shook his head. “I do.”
He stepped closer—not too close, but enough that my pulse reacted instantly.
“What I said was honest,” he continued, his voice low. “But honesty isn’t the same as doing the right thing.”
“So what’s the right thing?” My voice cracked slightly.
His jaw tightened. His eyes softened. And that conflict I kept seeing in him returned, stronger than ever.
“I don’t know anymore,” he admitted.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the ceiling lights.
“Lena,” he said quietly, “you’re smart. You’re talented. You have a future that shouldn’t be tangled up with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” I echoed. “What does that mean?”
He exhaled slowly. “I’m your lecturer. I’m older. I’m a father. I have responsibilities… I shouldn’t be feeling this way about you.”
“But you do,” I whispered.
His eyes fell shut briefly, as if acknowledging the truth was painful.
“Yes,” he breathed. “I do.”
My chest tightened. It felt like the world had paused around us.
“And that scares me,” he said.
Something inside me shifted. “Do I scare you?”
“No,” he said instantly. “How I feel around you scares me.”
His voice trembled in a way I had never heard before. A vulnerable confession from a man who always carried himself with control.
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I shouldn’t want this. But I do. I shouldn’t think about you. But I do. I shouldn’t message you late at night. But I did.”
The room felt too small.
My emotions too large.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, stepping closer. “Tell me to keep my distance and I will. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away.”
I stared at him, stunned by the raw honesty in his expression.
“I won’t tell you that,” I said softly.
His breath caught.
The tension between us thickened.
He took another step. We were close enough that I could feel his warmth, close enough that a few inches could end everything or begin something dangerous.
His eyes flickered to my lips, then back to my eyes.
“Lena…” he murmured.
Before he could say more, the door burst open.
I jumped back.
He stiffened instantly.
A group of students walked in noisily, chattering about a forgotten jacket. They barely noticed us. But the moment was shattered.
He straightened, stepping back so fast it stung.
“You should go,” he said quickly, his voice returning to its professional tone.
It cut like a blade.
“Okay,” I whispered, picking up my bag.
As I walked past him, he didn't look at me. His jaw was clenched tightly, like he was holding himself together with sheer will.
I left the hall feeling raw and confused. It was like we kept reaching for each other only for the world to yank us apart.
---
The rest of the day dragged on painfully. Every time I checked my phone, there was no message from him. No explanation. No apology. No continuation of our unfinished conversation.
Maybe he regretted everything again.
Maybe he decided distance was the right thing.
Maybe I was the only one hanging on.
By evening, I felt restless and anxious. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, trying to replay the moment he stepped close to me… the way his voice softened… the way he looked torn.
My phone buzzed.
My heart jumped.
I grabbed it quickly. It wasn’t him. Just a friend forwarding a meme.
I dropped the phone with a sigh and closed my eyes.
Then, a second buzz.
This time… his name appeared.
J:
I didn’t handle today well. I’m sorry.
I sat up immediately.
Me:
It’s okay. I understand.
A pause. Then:
J:
No, you don’t. I keep stepping close to you and then pulling away. I’m confusing you. I know I am.
My fingers trembled as I typed.
Me:
You’re not confusing me. I know how I feel.
Another long pause.
J:
I need to see you.
My breath hitched.
Me:
Where?
J:
Somewhere private. Somewhere we can talk without interruptions.
My heartbeat thundered.
Me:
Okay. When?
J:
Tonight.
I stared at the message, the weight of it sinking in slowly. Tonight.
He wanted to see me tonight.
Me:
Where should we meet?
A moment later, his response came:
J:
I’ll send you the address. Don’t overthink it. Just come.
I swallowed hard.
This was dangerous.
This was reckless.
This was everything we weren’t supposed to do.
But I typed two words anyway.
Me:
I’ll come.
As soon as I pressed send, my stomach twisted with anticipation. I didn’t know what would happen tonight. I didn’t know what he wanted to say. I didn’t know where this forbidden path would lead.
All I knew was that the line we kept trying to draw between us…
We were both getting closer to crossing it.
And tonight…
We just might.
- Writer
