The Confession Game
523 Words
Chapter Four: The Confession Game
Layla tried to stay away.
She really did.
But fate had other plans — and so did the university’s ancient heating system.
The library was closed for repairs. Her dorm was freezing. So she found herself in the only warm building open past 9 p.m.: the English faculty lounge.
Dim lights. Old couches. A coffee machine that groaned louder than it poured.
She wrapped her fingers around a steaming cup and leaned against the window, watching raindrops streak down the glass like ink across a page.
Then she felt it — a shift in the air.
She turned.
Professor Ashford stood in the doorway, dressed in black again. His coat was dusted with rain. His tie was loosened, and his eyes — those unreadable eyes — landed right on her.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask why she was there.
He just walked in like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And suddenly, they were alone again.
---
“You like lurking in places you shouldn’t be,” he said, pouring his own coffee.
Layla raised an eyebrow. “Says the man having secret phone calls in restricted hallways.”
He didn’t smile, but something in his expression flickered.
“Touché.”
They sat in silence for a moment. The rain tapped against the windows like a ticking clock.
Then she asked, “Have you ever told someone something you shouldn’t have?”
His gaze met hers — sharp and direct.
“All the time. The trick is making them think it was their idea.”
Layla sipped her coffee slowly, eyes never leaving his.
“Wanna play a game?”
That got his attention.
“What kind of game?”
“A confession game. One question each. We take turns. No lies allowed.”
A pause. Then—
“I don’t play games with students.”
“Then play it with me as a person.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then, to her surprise, he said, “Fine.”
---
She leaned back.
“I’ll go first. What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?”
He didn’t blink.
> “That I’m okay.”
Her breath hitched. That was not the answer she expected.
He tilted his head. “Your turn.”
Layla swallowed. “What’s something you regret?”
> “Taking this job.”
Ouch.
“You could’ve just said meeting me,” she muttered.
He didn’t respond.
But his silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.
> “Your turn,” he said.
Layla looked away. “What are you hiding, Professor?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leaned forward, voice low and dark.
> “Something that could hurt you.”
She stared at him. Rain outside. Fire inside.
> “Then why not push me away?”
His answer came without hesitation.
> “Because I don’t want to.”
The air between them cracked.
And just like that, she knew—
Whatever this was, it was no longer just curiosity.
It was a spark with gasoline behind it.
And if she wasn’t careful, it would burn everything.
- Writer
