The final bell rang.
Chairs scraped back. Papers rustled. Voices rose in chatter and laughter as students began spilling out into the hallway.
All of them except one.
Callum already knew. He didn't even have to look up to know she was still there.
He waited, giving her the chance to leave on her own. One, two, three full seconds of silence.
She didn't.
He finally glanced up. She stood by her desk, slowly packing her things with deliberate care, like she had all the time in the world.
"Everyone else is gone," he said, his voice low, even. Measured. "You should be too."
Her eyes flicked to him, wide and innocent. "Oh," she said, her tone soft. "Sorry, Mr. Hayes. I was just... organizing my notes. Didn't want to leave anything behind again."
She smiled.
Callum's fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his desk. That smile wasn't real. It was a mask—and worse, it was effective. Disarming. Almost sweet enough to believe.
But he'd read her notes. He knew.
He stood up, just to create distance, maybe control. "You've been doing that a lot lately."
Her brow lifted slightly, feigning confusion. "Doing what?"
"Lingering." His jaw tightened. "Staying behind."
She tilted her head, a strand of hair slipping over her cheek. "Are you saying you don't want me here?"
Her voice was soft. Too soft. A thread of something unspoken between every word. It was flirtation, but the kind that wore a uniform and played innocent.
And he hated how it made his pulse skip.
He cleared his throat, sharp and purposeful. "That's not what I said. But you're my student. And this isn't appropriate."
She blinked, then lowered her gaze, suddenly small. Almost hurt. "I didn't mean anything by it, sir. I just... I like the quiet after class. That's all."
Liar.
Beautiful, manipulative, dangerous liar.
He should throw her out. Say something sharp. Something firm. But instead—
His eyes fell on her notebook.
She hadn't taken it. Left it there again, open just enough for him to see the little heart she had drawn in the margin. Deliberate. Delicate.
He could smell her perfume on the pages.
Something in him twisted.
Shame.
Longing.
Revulsion.
He stepped back from his desk like it might burn him. "You should go."
She looked at him again, and for the first time… her smile faded.
Not in fear. Not in defeat.
But in something far more intimate.
Recognition.
Like she knew. Knew exactly what drawer he kept her ribbon in. Knew what he did when he went home and locked the door. Knew the way he stared too long when she wasn't supposed to be looking.
And yet—she said nothing.
Just lifted her bag to her shoulder and walked past him, brushing just a little too close. Her voice a near whisper as she passed:
"Have a good afternoon, Mr. Hayes."
He didn't turn around. Didn't breathe until the door clicked shut behind her.
And even then—her scent lingered.
Just like her.
The faculty lounge smelled like overbrewed coffee, microwaved leftovers, and cheap perfume—an oddly specific combination that made Callum want to sit near the window every single time. He had his tray in one hand and the other deep in his pocket, already regretting walking in during peak lunch hour.
He should've gone back to his classroom.
Too late.
"Hayes," a voice sing-songed from the table near the coffee machine. "Looking like a brooding romance novel cover again. Tell me—are you doing it on purpose, or does the broody just come naturally?"
Callum shot a glance at Ms. Rivera, who was grinning over her sandwich, her glossy red nails tapping her thermos. A few others laughed. Someone else muttered, "School crush strikes again."
He sighed, low and tired, setting his tray down at the corner seat. "It's a Tuesday. There's nothing romantic about Tuesday."
"You'd be surprised," Mr. Allen, the History teacher, chimed in with a wink. "Apparently you've got another fan. One of the girls from senior lit said you're the reason she doesn't cut third period."
"Wonderful," Callum muttered, stabbing his salad like it had personally wronged him.
"She said, and I quote," Ms. Rivera added, laughing now, "'He looks like the kind of man who reads Russian novels and never smiles, and I just want to be the reason he does.'"
He dropped his fork.
There was more laughter. Callum exhaled slowly and ran a hand down his face.
"I teach. That's it," he muttered. "Not my fault teenagers are—delusional."
"Oh come on, it's harmless. Let them crush a little. You're young, mysterious, tall, and emotionally unavailable. It's a package."
He stared blankly at her. "I'm emotionally busy."
"Sure," Allen snorted. "Busy ignoring Ms. Kim's hints every time she 'accidentally' needs help in the supply closet?"
Callum didn't even look up. "No closets. Ever."
More cackles.
And yet… even through all the teasing, his mind had drifted. Again.
Her.
The girl from third period. The one who wasn't there two weeks ago. Transfer student. No fanfare, no parents—just paperwork dropped off with administration and a schedule change request that somehow landed her in his class.
And the first time she walked in, he had felt it. That shift.
That pull.
She wasn't like the others. She didn't giggle when he passed. Didn't blush when he asked a question. She just watched. Calm. Composed. Like she knew more than she let on. Like she'd been studying him long before she arrived.
And now—he caught himself watching her back. Not just watching. Memorizing.
He hadn't even asked her name when she arrived. She had said it softly. Smiled too perfectly. Like they already knew each other.
Like she expected him to recognize her.
He didn't.
And that scared him more than anything.
Callum's phone buzzed. A notification from the grade portal. Third period had submitted their quiz results. His eyes immediately scanned for her name.
There it was.
Lara Evans.
He stared at it. Cold swept over his spine.
Why does that name feel wrong?
"Hayes," Rivera said again, cutting into his thoughts. "You good? You spaced out."
He blinked, looked up.
"Yeah," he lied. "Just thinking about my lesson plan."
She smirked. "Sure. Or maybe thinking about Ms. Kim and that closet after all."
Callum stood up, tray half-eaten. "I need to grade."
And escape.
Because if he stayed any longer, he'd start asking questions about a girl named Lara Evans.
A name he didn't believe for a second.