The hallway buzzed with the usual post-class chaos — shoes squeaking, lockers slamming, chatter echoing off the walls. You and Chiara slipped out of the Computer room, still laughing about the teacher’s terrible attempt at explaining binary code. The next class was History — your favorite, for one very specific reason: Mr. Aáron Cameron.

He wasn’t like the other teachers. He was calm, confident, and had that sort of quiet charm that made even the most boring topics sound interesting. You and Chiara had both developed a massive crush on him, though your connection with him… well, that was a little different. There was a secret — something just between you and him — that Chiara didn’t know about.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Chiara said, tugging your sleeve as you walked down the long corridor toward the staircase.

“Relax, we’ve got time,” you said with a grin.

But then, as if fate had timed it perfectly, a familiar figure stepped out of the classroom at the end of the hall. Mr. Cameron — dark shirt sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, a folder tucked under his arm — walking right in front of you.

Chiara froze mid-step. “Oh. My. God,” she whispered.

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle. “Don’t stare,” you warned.

“I’m not!” she hissed. But she definitely was.

The two of you squealed quietly like a pair of conspirators, trying to keep your voices down. Your heart was already racing — you didn’t expect to see him until class started.

“Esta loca chica,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head with a smile.

Unfortunately, your whisper carried just enough.

Mr. Cameron turned his head slightly, one brow raised, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes met yours for the briefest moment — warm, knowing, and amused.

Chiara gasped softly. “He heard you!” she whispered-shouted, clutching your arm. “He heard you, you idiot!”