The faculty lounge buzzed in that half-chaotic, half-cozy way it always did just before the first bell. The overhead lights gave off a low hum, and the old coffee machine sputtered noisily, filling the room with the scent of something that resembled caffeine but leaned more toward burnt toast. A half-empty box of donuts sat on the table, the good ones already picked clean, leaving behind powdered remnants and a few undesired jelly-filleds. Someone had music playing off their phone, too loud and slightly offbeat, like a soundtrack to a morning that couldn't quite wake up.
Callum Hayes paused at the doorway, coffee mug in hand, eyes scanning the familiar scene. This was his normal. Predictable. Safe. The kind of chaos you could measure with a timer: ten minutes until homeroom, fifteen until the first period, one hundred and eighty until the day slowed down again.
"Mr. Hayes," Rivera sing-songed from the coffee machine, already grinning like she'd been waiting for him. "Look who's back from his hot teacher date."
Callum exhaled through his nose, kept his expression bland. "It wasn't a date."
"That's not what your awkward flirting said," Ms. Kim tossed in without looking up, stirring creamer into her own mug. Her tone was breezy, but her eyes flicked toward him in that subtle.
He gave a weak smirk. "It was coffee."
"With tension," Rivera added, elbowing Kim like they were tag-teaming.
"He was stiff as a board," Kim said with a laugh, setting her mug down and finally meeting his gaze. "Like he'd never been on a date in his life."
"Maybe he hasn't," Rivera stage-whispered. "Mysterious loner vibes, remember?"
Allen, perched by the window with his ever-present thermos, looked over. "Maybe he's just pure. You're ruining him, Kim."
Callum rolled his eyes and tried to play along, tried to slip back into the old rhythm. "I am deeply unruined, thanks."
He moved toward the coffee pot, pretending not to notice the way Kim's gaze followed him. The coffee was worse than usual, but he sipped it anyway, letting the bitterness settle in his throat like a distraction.
They were testing the waters—he and Kim and he don't know if he wants to continue it.
His classroom was still, the kind of quiet that only existed in the brief moments before the storm. The desks were lined up with perfect symmetry, textbooks stacked neatly on the side counter, and the whiteboard was still clean except for the date scrawled in his even handwriting. He adjusted the blinds to let in more of the gray light from outside and set his mug down on the desk.
Students began to trickle in with their usual mix of half-awake grumbles and too-loud conversations. Chairs screeched. Laughter burst in small, uneven pockets. Someone dropped a pen; someone else chased a crumpled paper ball like it was gold.
And then she walked in.
Lara Evans.
She moved like she belonged in the center of everything, all effortless confidence and subtle defiance. offered him a smile, soft and slow, like she knew something he didn't.
"Morning, Mr. Hayes," she said.
He nodded once. "Morning."
She chose the seat near the window—not the front, but close enough to hold his attention. She always sat there. Always close. Never too close. Just enough to make him aware.
He turned his back to the class, picking up the marker, trying to focus. He could hear her voice among the others, that light laugh that never failed to put his guard up. Everyone said Lara was mature. Brilliant. Driven. Teachers admired her. Students envied her. Some called her an old soul, like she'd been through more than she should have.
But to him—sometimes—she just felt like a landmine waiting to be stepped on.
"Open your books to page 146," he said, voice steady, projecting control. "We're continuing with the modern poetry section." He took Mr. Allen's class for the meantime cause he had emergencies which means no break time for him for a while.
There were groans, the rustle of pages. He turned back to the board and began writing out discussion points, hyper-aware of the stillness behind him. He could feel her watching. He always could.
"Mr. Hayes?"
Her voice cut through the quiet. Not loud. Just clear.
He turned. "Yes, Lara?"
She tilted her head slightly, like she wasn't quite sure if she should ask. But of course she would. She always did.
"Do you think the poet meant to expose vulnerability as a strength? Or is it just a side effect of loss?"
The question was smart. Too smart for how early it was. For how casual she made it sound.
He blinked. "I think that's open to interpretation. What do you think?"
She smiled again. That same slow curl of her lips. "I think vulnerability is the only thing real poets can offer. The rest is just form."
A murmur of impressed sounds came from the students nearby. Someone muttered, "Damn."
Callum nodded. "Good. Hold onto that thought. We'll come back to it."
He turned back to the board, but his mind stayed behind. Her voice. Her phrasing. The way she looked at him while she said it.
He was a teacher. She was a student.
It should have been easier to separate the two.
The rest of the period dragged like time was punishing him. Every time he looked up, she was already looking at him. Not in a defiant way. Just watching. Like she was studying him just as much as the text on the page. Like she knew exactly what he was thinking and had decided not to say anything.
When the bell rang, he gathered his materials with the same calm rhythm he always did. But Lara didn't rush out like the others. She stayed seated, packing her bag slowly, deliberately.
When most of the room had cleared out, she finally stood.
"I'm sorry for ruining your date with Ms. Kim but that coffee place yesterday was cute," she said casually. "Didn't know teachers had lives outside school."
His jaw tightened slightly. "Teachers are people too."
She gave a half-smile. "You didn't seem like you were having fun."
"It was... casual," he said carefully. "We were talking about curriculum."
Lara raised a brow. "Is that what they're calling dates now?"
He felt his heart beat once, hard.
"That's enough, Lara."
She didn't flinch. Just adjusted her bag on her shoulder and walked to the door.
"Have a good day, Mr. Hayes."
She left with a soft click of the door behind her.
He exhaled slowly.
The classroom felt empty, but it was heavy too. Like something unsaid had taken root in the air, stretching roots through the floorboards and creeping into his lungs.
He sank into his chair.
He needed to talk to someone. Or maybe he just needed to stop thinking.
Maybe both.
More laughter. It felt distant.