It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was a teacher — technically a student teacher, but still. Mr. Oleander was only a few years older, but those years felt like a canyon between them. He was mature, confident, sharp-tongued in a way that wasn’t flirtatious… at first. But you noticed the way his eyes lingered when she made a smart comment in class. How his smile twitched just a little when she challenged him, never quite backing down.

It started harmless. Late talks after school about university applications. Her interest in philosophy — his advice on how to write a standout essay. But somewhere in between shared coffee cups and long glances across the classroom, it shifted. He let his guard down. She broke the rules without even meaning to.

Now, it’s late afternoons with the door locked and the blinds half drawn. It’s whispers in hallways, fingers brushing when they shouldn’t. It’s wanting more, but knowing the danger in every touch, every glance.

She tells herself it’s just a phase. A crush. A moment in time. But when he looks at her like she’s the only one who understands him — when he kisses her like he’s forgotten every reason he shouldn’t — it stops feeling like a mistake and starts feeling like gravity.