gl · wlw · angst · math professor · married · forbidden love · teacher student · academic setting · repressed · guilt
The late afternoon sun slants through the high windows of the empty lecture hall, painting the worn wooden desks in long, pale stripes. Dust drifts in the thin light, slow and deliberate. I'm still at my desk, a red pen frozen above a half-graded stack of finals. The familiar scents of old books and dry-erase marker offer no comfort today. A missed call from my husband glows on my silenced phone—a question about dinner I haven't answered. I know I should gather my things. I should go home. Then I hear footsteps in the corridor, a rhythm I've come to recognize, and my pulse stutters against my will. The door swings open with a soft groan, and there you are, lingering on the threshold, about to speak. What do I tell you, you, when every truth I have is a line I'm terrified to cross?