The bell rang like mercy, echoing off the lockers as the last of the students trickled out. Callum stacked the leftover worksheets, slid them into a folder, and rubbed the back of his neck. His spine was sore from bending over the bulletin board all day, measuring angles and pinning laminated headers. The classroom had thinned into silence, sunlight pooling at the far edge of the floor.
When he glanced up, Lara was still there.
He blinked. She hadn't packed up. Hadn't even moved. Her pen was idle in her hand, her cheek resting lazily against her palm as if she'd always belonged to that desk.
"You need something?" he asked.
She looked up. "I just… don't want to go home yet."
A pause stretched between them. Her voice hadn't trembled, hadn't hinted at anything particular—but it tugged at him. She always said the most loaded things with the calmest expression.
"I've got to finish the bulletin board," he said finally. "You can stay. Doors stay open."
"Of course," she said, smiling like she'd already won.
He moved to the windows, pushing them open. The spring air spilled in—cool, honest. He didn't trust it. He propped the classroom door with a stack of reference books. Loud hallway noise filtered in, but it was fading. The school emptied fast after last bell.
When he turned around, she was closer. Just a little.
"Need help?" she asked, lifting her brows.
"I'm good."
She walked to the cork board anyway, trailing her fingers along the edge. "What's the theme?"
"'Math in Everyday Life,'" he muttered. "Riveting."
She giggled, low and breathy. "Want me to do the border? I'm good at lining things up."
He hesitated.
"It's just paper and staples," she said, already reaching for the drawer where he kept supplies. "I won't break anything."
He watched her kneel, her skirt tugging just a bit too high. She opened the drawer, pulled out the stapler and edge paper with a practiced ease, and stood.
She smelled like jasmine. And something warmer underneath.
Her fingers brushed his when she took the border strips from his hand.
He stepped back.
It didn't help.
She stood on tiptoe, smoothing the paper along the top of the cork board. Her blouse shifted when she stretched. Her perfume grew stronger in the heat of the afternoon. Every movement was slow. Measured. Like she knew he was watching. Like she wanted him to.
And he was.
He hated himself for it.
He adjusted the collar of his shirt. Sat on the edge of his desk and tried not to stare at her fingers. Or her lips. Or the curve of her spine.
"How are your other classes going?" he asked, trying too hard to sound nonchalant.
Lara didn't answer right away. She picked up a piece of border paper, smoothed it on the desk. "Depends. Mr. Reyes says I'm distracting."
Callum raised a brow. "Distracting how?"
"He says I ask too many questions. That I laugh too loud. That I look out the window too much."
"That's… vague," he said, folding his arms. "Looking out the window's not a crime."
She turned to him then, leaning her hip against the desk. "He says I flirt. Too much."
His throat dried. "And do you?"
She shrugged one shoulder. "I don't mean to. I just talk how I talk."
A pause.
"I heard he called me a 'handful' in the faculty lounge," she added with a small grin.
Callum cleared his throat. "You know, most kids your age would be halfway home by now. Watching TikToks. Eating snacks."
"Yeah, well, I'm not most kids," she said, dragging the stapler over and clicking it once just to hear the sound. "Besides, I like quiet classrooms. They're… intimate."
"Dangerous word," he said before he could stop himself.
She smiled at him over her shoulder. "Is it?"
She glanced at him, smiled. "Fine. Mr. Reyes says I talk too much."
He snorted. "That's not surprising."
"He also says I'm too flirty."
He froze.
She rolled her eyes and tossed a strip of paper onto the table. "I don't like boys, Mr. Hayes. I like men."
Callum stopped breathing.
Her words landed like lightning. Not the kind that struck once and was gone, but the kind that danced across the sky—long, jagged, and unrelenting. He could see her still, exactly as she said it. Could hear the way she let it land. Her mouth curling at the edges, not a smirk, not a grin, but something darker. Measured. Like she had tested those words before and found them effective. Like she knew they'd hit.
He sat frozen. His heartbeat somewhere in his throat, a pulse in his ears. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then away. To the desk. The stapler. Anywhere. But she was everywhere. Her perfume clung to the space between them. Her voice echoed off the walls even in silence. And her words—they were still inside him. Bright. Hot. Too dangerous to look at, and too sharp to forget.
He swallowed.
Felt everything tighten below his belt.
Her words landed like lightning. Not the kind that struck once and was gone, but the kind that danced across the sky—long, jagged, and unrelenting. He could see her still, exactly as she said it. Could hear the way she let it land. Her mouth curling at the edges, not a smirk, not a grin, but something darker. Measured. Like she had tested those words before and found them effective. Like she knew they'd hit.
He sat frozen. His heartbeat somewhere in his throat, a pulse in his ears. His eyes flicked to her mouth, then away. To the desk. The stapler. Anywhere. But she was everywhere. Her perfume clung to the space between them. Her voice echoed off the walls even in silence. And her words—they were still inside him. Bright. Hot. Too dangerous to look at, and too sharp to forget.
He cleared his throat, voice rougher than it should have been. "So… how's Chemistry going? Or has Reyes already traumatized the entire class?"
Lara laughed—light and easy, like nothing had just happened. Like she hadn't just knocked the air out of his lungs.
"Reyes tries to sound scary," she said, curling a strand of hair behind her ear. "But he gets flustered when anyone corrects his notes."
"You corrected him?" Callum asked, trying to sound amused and not horrified.
"Just once." She tilted her head. "Maybe twice. He told me I was 'too confident for a transfer.'"
"Is that code for 'he doesn't like being shown up'?"
She grinned. "Probably. But he also said I was 'too flirty.'"
He looked at her, wary. "Were you?"
She rolled her eyes, exaggerated and playful. "I don't flirt with boys."
He didn't breathe.
She added, soft and casual, like it was nothing: "I like men."
His chest tightened. Every nerve ending in his body screamed at once.
He needed out. Air. Distance. Anything.
But his feet stayed planted.
"So," he said, yanking the conversation back toward something—anything—normal, "what's your weekend looking like? Plans?"
She blinked, maybe surprised at the pivot. "Hmm. I'm supposed to meet a friend. Coffee or something."
"Friend?" he echoed. His tone was casual, but his stomach twisted.
She looked at him for a beat too long. "Just someone I talk to. Don't worry, Mr. Hayes. Not a boy."
He didn't respond to that. Couldn't.
Before the silence could stretch any further, a knock sounded on the open door.
Ms. Kim.
Bright smile, clipboard in hand. "Hey, Callum. Just checking if you got the updated grading matrix from Admin—"
She stopped mid-step as her eyes landed on Lara.
"Oh—hi, Lara. Didn't mean to interrupt."
Lara straightened, smooth as ever. "You're not interrupting. I was just leaving."
Callum nodded, his voice distant. "She was helping with the bulletin board."
"That's sweet of her," Kim said warmly.
Lara slung her bag over her shoulder, her perfume trailing behind her like a parting gift. She looked over her shoulder before walking out.
"See you Monday, Mr. Hayes."
It sounded like a promise.
Then she was gone.
Callum exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath the entire time.
Kim was still looking at him.
"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," he lied, turning back to his desk. "Just… long week."
"Tell me about it," she chuckled, holding out the clipboard. "Here. This should help shorten the next one."
He took it. Nodded. Smiled.
But his eyes were still on the door.
And his skin still burned where her words had touched him.