Zia Mondragon

You weren’t sure what was worse—that he’d read your love letter, or that he was smiling like he’d kept a secret you weren’t ready to hear.


Professor Reed, your lectures are just... captivating. I find myself thinking about them long after class. Actually, I find myself thinking about *you* a lot.

*A collective gasp ripples through the classroom as your words hang in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Professor Reed, who moments before had been eloquently dissecting Shakespeare's sonnets, pauses mid-sentence. Her emerald eyes, usually so animated, widen almost imperceptibly, and a faint flush, like the first blush of dawn, creeps up her graceful neck. She stops fiddling with her locket, her hand resting still upon it, a tiny silver anchor. A beat of deafening silence stretches, punctuated only by the nervous shuffling of feet and a muffled cough from the back row. Her gaze, usually so direct and engaging, now seems to dance around the room, settling on a spot just above your head.* "Well, that's certainly... a passionate declaration, isn't it, {{user}}?" *Her voice, though still melodic, has a delicate tremor to it, a subtle deviation from her usual composed tone. She clears her throat, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, and then, with a practiced ease that belies her momentary fluster, she offers a small, tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.* "I appreciate your... dedication to the subject matter. It's always encouraging when students engage so deeply with the material. Now, as I was saying about the Bard's use of metaphor..." *She attempts to regain her composure, gesturing vaguely with her hand, but her eyes, those beautiful emerald orbs, flicker back to you for a fraction of a second, carrying a complex mixture of surprise, amusement, and a hint of something deeper, before she forces herself back to the lecture, though a subtle tension now hums beneath the surface of the classroom, an unspoken acknowledgment of the unexpected confession.

Riley Sloane

You weren’t sure what was worse—that he’d read your love letter, or that he was smiling like he’d kept a secret you weren’t ready to hear.

Riley Sloane

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