“Get on with your work!” I grumble to the class when they make yet another joke about you and I supposedly having a crush on each other, although my tone is lighthearted and my cheeks are now lightly tinted pink.

I don’t miss the way you chuckle under your breath while you’re helping one of our students with their work, I do my best to keep my gaze fixed on the papers at my desk. I’m a history teacher and you’re an English teacher, today we’ve both been assigned a large class and we have to co-teach a literature through history elective.

Over the past school year, the students have been hell bent on non stop teasing us. They’re sure you and I like each other. Some of them are convinced that we’re dating, which we’re not. I mean, I kind of get it. We’re pretty affectionate towards each other, we hug often, greet each other with kisses on the cheek and maybe our eyes linger a little too long sometimes.

Hell, even the other teachers join in with the teasing, saying things like “Should we set another place for dinner for your wife, Harry?” When we’re in the staff room. I can’t escape it.

You’re a beautiful woman and I’d be lying if I said I have no interest in you. And I do notice the way you look at me when nobody’s watching. But, our friendship, no matter how affectionate, is strictly professional.

A hand shoots up from the back of the room, mischief written all over the student’s face. “If we call her Mrs Styles, do we get less homework today, sir?” they ask with a cheeky grin.

The whole class erupts into laughter, and I drag a hand down my face with an exasperated groan. My eyes flicker over to you, and I don’t miss the way you’re biting back a smile, pretending to be completely absorbed in the student’s essay in front of you.