A Line to close
1363 Words
It was well past the final bell when Mr. Callahan found himself alone in the staffroom, staring blankly at a cold cup of coffee and the rain streaking down the window. The rest of the day had passed in a haze. He’d gone through the motions, meetings, lesson planning, paper marking, but none of it had stuck. Not really. Not after what happened that morning.
Stacey.
The way she’d collapsed, crumpling like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut, it had shaken him more than he could admit. Her eyes rolling back. The soft thud of her body hitting the floor. The blood. Even now, the image of her pale face, dazed and scared, wouldn’t leave his mind.
He shouldn’t have been alone with her. He knew that. But he also knew the nurse had to step away and her parents hadn’t yet arrived. What was he supposed to do? Leave her there?
No. He couldn’t do that.
He’d sat beside her, barely breathing, waiting for her to open her eyes. And then she’d spoken.
God, she’d spoken.
Words tumbled out of her like a confession at the altar, confused, raw, messy. But honest. Every single one of them. She’d told him about the kiss. About how much she liked it. How wrong she knew it was. How right it had felt in the moment. And how she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
What she didn’t know, what he couldn’t bring himself to say, was that he couldn’t stop thinking about it either.
That kiss had haunted him.
It wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything about her. The way she carried the weight of the world like it was stitched into her shoulders. The way she smiled, hesitant, like someone who wasn’t used to being allowed to be happy. The way she laughed when she forgot to be guarded.
She was magnetic.
But she was seventeen.
And he was twenty-four.
Only seven years. But an entire world apart.
He rubbed his face, fingers dragging across his tired skin. No one would care that he was just a teaching assistant. That he was young, still figuring life out, still unsure of his place in the world. To the school, to the law, to society, he was an adult. She was not. End of story.
But what no one would understand was that she wasn’t some naive child.
She was sharp, aware. Her eyes had seen more than many adults he knew. She carried herself with a strength that came from living through hard things. He could see that. And that was dangerous because it made it easier to forget that she was still, undeniably, a student.
He knew what the right thing was. Distance. Silence. Avoidance. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. Not when every part of him wanted to reach out, to explain himself, to tell her what he wasn’t saying.
Because he had secrets, too.
He hadn’t grown up like the others. He’d been the kind of teenager who counted cigarettes instead of textbooks, who knew how to patch up his drunk dad’s bleeding knuckles at fourteen, who learned quickly how to keep his mouth shut and his head down. He hadn’t come from privilege. He’d clawed his way here, barely. Teaching wasn’t the dream. It was survival. It was control. A job that gave him stability.
Until Stacey.
She made him feel seventeen again. Reckless. Brave. Stupid.
He stared into the coffee as if it could offer answers. It didn’t.
What was he going to do?
He couldn’t ignore the feelings anymore. They were real. And if they were real, they needed to be addressed before they turned into something irreversible.
He pulled his notebook from his satchel and began to write, not lesson plans, but a strategy. A line of action. If he couldn’t control his heart, he could at least control his behaviour.
1. Avoid one-on-one situations with Stacey.
2. Redirect any interactions through group work or formal channels.
3. Speak to the head of pastoral care to request a classroom reassignment discreetly.
4. No texts. No emails. No opportunities.
5. Journal every emotion. Do not act on them.
He underlined the last one twice.
It had to stop here.
He couldn’t lose everything he’d worked for. He wasn’t from a family that could cushion a fall from grace. One mistake, and he’d be done. Forever. And worse, he’d ruin her future, not just his own. She might not see it now, but being tied to someone like him, someone in a position of authority, would follow her for years.
People would never let her forget. They’d call her names. Blame her. Punish her for his actions.
He wouldn't be able to live with that.
But if he was being truly honest with himself...
If Stacey had been even a year older, if the world looked just slightly different, he might have let it happen. Might have pursued her. Because feelings like this? They didn’t come often.
And now, they had to be buried.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his spiral. One of the admin staff reminded him to lock up his classroom before leaving. He nodded, mumbled thanks, and stood.
As he packed up, he glanced once more at the notes he’d scribbled. His plan.
It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t erase the way he felt.
But it was a start.
And maybe, if he stuck to it long enough, he’d stop looking for her in every corridor. Stop listening for her laugh. Stop wondering what could’ve been.
Or maybe not.
But at least he could pretend.
He turned off the lights and stepped into the hallway, the echo of his footsteps reminding him that sometimes the right path was the loneliest one.
And he’d chosen it.
For her.
And for himself.
As he entered his room, flicking off the lights, he caught sight of something by the far desk.
Her bag.
Stacey’s bag.
She must have left it in the chaos earlier. Her parents had been so focused on getting her to the hospital that they hadn’t even thought to grab it.
He walked over, hesitating only slightly before lifting it. Unsure what to do with it, he placed it gently on his desk.
As he adjusted it, one of her books slipped out, landing with a soft thud. The cover flopped open.
His eyes landed on doodles, scribbles, and hearts drawn around his name.
Mr. Callahan.
A picture of lips and clearly meant to be kissing.
He froze. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth before he caught himself. He found a row of XO's and added two of his own. She'd never guess.
He closed the book carefully.
This was dangerous.
Sweet, flattering, but dangerous.
He placed everything back into the bag with measured care and stowed it in the cabinet behind his desk. He’d give it to the office first thing in the morning.
As he turned off the light for the second time, he let out a long breath.
He was already in too deep.
And he wasn’t sure how to climb back out.
As he finally left the building, pulling his coat tighter around him, the wind biting at his skin, he saw someone standing near the school gates. A young man, mid-twenties maybe, tall and broad-shouldered, with a hoodie pulled low over his forehead.
He looked... familiar. Out of place, but not unfamiliar.
"Can I help you?" Mr. Callahan asked cautiously.
The man looked up, expression guarded. "I'm Stacey's brother. She wasn’t well today. Left some stuff."
Mr. Callahan swallowed hard, instinctively thinking of the bag now locked away in his desk.
"Yeah, I know," he replied slowly. "I work in the class she was in today. Is she okay?"
The brother shrugged, his tone casual but edged with concern. "She’s bruised, dehydrated. Didn’t eat. But she’ll survive."
Mr Callahan nodded, heart thudding. He couldn't bring himself to offer the bag now. Not tonight. Not without raising questions.
"Tell her... just tell her to rest," he said. And before he could talk himself out of it, he turned and walked away into the night.
- Writer
