(Clara)
I told myself I was being ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
In fact, I repeated it to myself at least twenty times before lunch.
Because what exactly was I upset about?
Professor Hart was behaving professionally.
That was literally what he was supposed to do.
He was treating me the same way he treated every other student.
There was nothing wrong with that.
Nothing at all.
So why did it feel like someone had punched a hole straight through my chest?
I hated the answer.
Because it meant admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit.
Somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to his attention.
The extra second his gaze lingered.
The tension.
The awareness.
The feeling that whenever he walked into a room, he noticed me.
Now that it was gone, the absence felt loud.
Emb
