Taught by him

CHAPTER 8. Office hours

His office building was dark at 8pm.

I had never used the back entrance. It was a heavy metal door by the dumpsters that stuck every time it rained. Lila called it the murder door.

I pushed. It stuck. I pushed harder and it gave with a groan.

The hallway was empty. Fluorescent lights humming. The smell of old books and floor wax.

His light was on. Room 312. The door was already ajar.

I knocked once.

"Come in."

Ethan was not at his desk. He was standing by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. The city lights made his face look tired.

"You came through the back," he said.

"You told me to. Like a criminal."

"Like someone who doesn't want to lose his job." He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Close the door."

I closed it. Locked it.

We just looked at each other.

"You're still in yellow," he said.

"You told me to torture you properly."

"You are doing an excellent job."

He took a step closer. Then stopped himself.

"Aria, I have to be honest with you. If someone sees you here, they will not assume we are discussing Sylvia Plath."

"I know."

"Are you scared?"

"A little."

"Good. You should be. I am terrified."

He finally moved, pulling the chair out for me. Not his chair. The student chair across from his desk.

I sat. The yellow dress fanned around me.

He sat too, leaning forward, elbows on his desk, like this really was office hours.

"Your essay today," he said. "I kissed a ghost who turned out to be a man. What did you mean?"

"That for three years, everyone on campus has told me you were haunted by Clara. That you killed her. That you were obsessed with her. And last night, when you kissed me back, you didn't feel like a ghost. You felt real."

His jaw tightened.

"I went to see her mother today," he said quietly. "After you left class. I had to."

The air in the office went cold.

"And?"

"And she showed me something. A letter. It arrived two weeks ago. No return address. No stamp from this country."

My hands gripped the armrests.

"What did it say?"

"Three words." He opened his desk drawer and slid a photocopy across to me. The original was with the police now.

The paper said in messy, familiar handwriting: _I DIDN'T DROWN._

My blood went cold.

"Clara?" I whispered.

"Her handwriting. I would know it anywhere."

"But... that means she's alive?"

"Or someone wants us to think she is." He stood abruptly, pacing. "For three years I thought she was dead because of me. Because I was too late to save her. Now..."

He stopped behind my chair. His hands rested on my shoulders. Warm, heavy.

"If she is alive, Aria, everything changes. I am still engaged. On paper. Legally. Morally."

I reached up and covered his hand with mine.

"Do you want her to be alive?"

He was quiet for a long time.

"Yesterday, I would have said yes. I would have said I needed to know. Today..." His thumb brushed my collarbone. "Today when you walked into my classroom in yellow, I realized I haven't breathed in three years. And you just gave me air. So no. I don't know what I want anymore. Except for you to not leave this office."

I stood up. Turned to face him. We were too close. The desk was between us but it didn't feel like enough.

"Ethan, look at me. I'm not her. I'm not a replacement."

"I know," he said. His voice broke. "God, I know. You argue louder. You wear yellow. You kiss like you mean it."

He cupped my face, just like in the rain.

"Can I do it again? Properly this time. Not in the rain. Not because I'm scared. Because I want to."

I didn't answer with words.

I leaned in and answered for him.

This kiss was not quick. It was not soft. It was three years of waiting and one day of yellow dresses.

His desk lamp flickered.

Outside the window, somewhere across the dark campus, a phone started to ring in another office.

We didn't stop.

Until the door handle rattled.

Someone was trying to open our locked door.