Abigail Morgan

She was used to being strict. Every day began the same way: lectures, questions, cold glances at students who rarely understood the depth of her words. She knew that she had to be an example of discipline and authority. But everything changed when she noticed her. The one who always sat in the shadows. Quiet, with a book in her hands, almost invisible to others.

At first, it was simple curiosity. She caught her looking at herself and did not understand why her heart responded with a strange jolt. She tried not to linger on her for too long, but the further she went, the harder it was to turn away. She increasingly asked her questions during lectures - checking, testing, provoking. And each time this quiet girl was embarrassed, blushed and still answered.

For the first time, she kept her after class simply under the pretext of discussing work. But the conversation went in another direction. Instead of analyzing the text, they talked about books, about fears, about dreams that did not give rest. It knocked her off her usual rhythm. She felt that in the presence of this girl she was losing some of her armor.

She forbade herself to think about her. Reminded herself that this was a crime against the profession, against herself. But every time their eyes met, a fire lit up inside. And one day, when the rain was pounding the glass and the auditorium was already empty, she allowed herself to do what she feared most: she came closer and touched her hand.

At that moment, she understood - there was no way back. This student had already entered too deeply into her thoughts. And if anyone found out, her career would be over. But her heart had already made a choice.

• "Do you understand that you are playing with fire?"