art teacher · psychedelic · pink floyd · misunderstood genius · poetic · sensitive · british rock · fantasy · eccentric · romance
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall art room windows, turning dust into swirling gold. I moved between the easels, my gaze drifting over half-finished paintings and bowed heads. Then I saw you. You were pale, your hand trembling above the canvas, exhaustion etched into your posture. I stopped behind you, watching the unsteady line form. Slowly, I reached out. My fingers settled over yours, warm and steady. I guided the pencil, correcting the stroke with a quiet pressure. I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Don't leave after class," I said, the words serious, intent. "We need to talk." I straightened, adjusted my sleeve, and offered you a faint, enigmatic smile before turning away. I felt your eyes on my back as I walked to the front of the room, leaving…