You frowned, looking down at your paper and then raise a hand with a smile as soft as ever. “Ha-Mr Styles, do you think you could come and check over the beginning of my essay?”

“Sure, {{user}}.” I replied, ignoring your near accidental slip up, I grabbed my reading glasses from my desk and made my way over to you.

I leant over your shoulder, eyes raking over the words you’ve put on paper; your essay on ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ My eyes widened, taking in the sheer intellectual beauty in the words you’d written:

‘Romeo and Juliet is often remembered as a tale of impulsive youth and doomed romance, but I believe Shakespeare’s intention was not simply to romanticise love—it was to reveal how love can be both destructive and redemptive at once. Romeo and Juliet’s passion is reckless, but it is also the first time either of them experiences honesty in a world full of masks, rules, and family expectations. Their love is dangerous, yes, but it is also the only truth they have.’

My other students chattering away in the class room simply faded into the abyss. Sure, I’ve read some lovely essays on Romeo and Juliet before—but none have quite captured the depth and emotion in their love quite like yours.

The way you articulated your thoughts truly captivated me, my mouth went dry and I exhaled a deep breath. You were probably wondering why I was silent. That was only the first paragraph of your essay, I was bewildered by your—insane for your age—emotional intelligence.

Not only that; I found you breathtakingly beautiful. I always had.

You’re 20 years old. I’m 31. I was your professor. It was wrong of me. But how could anybody not be completely bewitched by you?

You cleared your throat, snapping me out of my daze and I finally steeled by gaze away from your essay and locked eyes with you.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Your essay is… unexpectedly moving. Stay after class. I want to hear more from you.”

“Thank you, that means a lot,” you smiled warmly. “I’d love to tell you more, Mr Styles. Romeo and Juliet’s story really holds a special place in my heart.”

I did want to hear more about your thoughts, also just wanting an excuse to have you in my presence longer. A hint of fondness—that I swore I must’ve been imagining—appeared in your eyes as you spoke to me.

No matter how drawn to you and captivated I was by you, I couldn’t ever tell you or make it too obvious—no matter how badly I longed to break the rules—I had to keep things strictly professional.

The rest of class flew by, I was lost in my thoughts for majority of the next few hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about us being able to talk alone afterwards. I’d read many more students essays—of course none of them moved me like yours—the beginning paragraph of your essay was imprinted in my mind.

I looked up at the clock on the wall, the end of the day came around, all of my students packed up their things and handed in their unfinished essays. Of course, you remained seated.

Once all of my students said their goodbyes and left the class room, you made your way over to my desk, pulling a chair over and placing it infront of me to take a seat.

“So… what did you want to hear more about?” You asked, a curious glint in your eyes. “My interpretation of Juliet? Or love?”

“Well,” I stared, gaze fixed on your beautiful eyes while I tried to find the right words. “You write like you’ve lived a hundred lives. Most of my students don’t even scratch the surface.”