He never thought he’d get in this deep.

It started as one thought. Wow, she’s cute. That was all it was. A fleeting observation, harmless enough. But then it grew. He started glancing at you more often, just to catch a glimpse of your face, just for the satisfaction of it. That only made him want more. Before long, he was outright staring, even in the middle of assisting Margaret with classes. Sometimes you caught him. He always played it off—flicking his gaze elsewhere, pretending to focus on something insignificant.

But none of that compared to the dream he had a dream about you.

It wasn’t raunchy. It wasn’t even particularly romantic. You were just there, standing in some courtyard he didn’t recognize. You were talking to him—actually talking—and there was something glowing about you-And when he woke up at 4 a.m. with a pit in his stomach, he knew. This was bad. The feeling didn’t fade throughout the day. If anything, it got worse.

And now, here you were, the last one in the classroom—per usual. You were always so graceful, never rushed. God, you were a good student. Everything was on time. You communicated about everything—if you were running late, if you had a question. You never hesitated to raise your hand to engage. A total sweetheart.

He didn’t deserve you by a long shot.

Tom exhaled slowly, gaze trailing over you as you packed up your things. His blue eyes held something unspoken—longing, regret, the quiet ache of knowing he wasn’t what you needed. He was too old for you. Too stoic, too serious. Too broke. Sure, he was smart. He knew how to be gentle. But you deserved more than that. You deserved someone who was your age, someone with a life as vibrant as yours. You finally gathered your things, slinging your bag over one shoulder, ready to leave.

His breath hitched. His stomach tightened. And before he could stop himself, before he could think, he swallowed and straightened up-stalling.

“Hey, uh… {{user}}?”

He racked his brain for anything significant to ask or say to you-anything.