Samara hesitated at the threshold of Kamala's home, her nerves tangling in an intricate knot. The quiet warmth of the house enveloped her, and she clutched her bag tightly, feeling the weight of the evening ahead. Kamala stood a few feet away, her posture calm and inviting, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Leave your shoes and jacket by the door," Kamala instructed, her voice measured but kind.
"Follow me to my study, and we'll start with the basics of Criminal Law."
Samara obeyed, her hands trembling slightly as she slipped out of her sneakers and unzipped her jacket. The soft creak of the hardwood floor accompanied her tentative steps as she followed Kamala down a hallway that carried the faint scents of vanilla and polished wood.
The study was an intimate yet imposing space. Shelves crammed with legal textbooks and case files loomed over a desk that was meticulously organized. A soft golden light from a desk lamp bathed the room in a cozy glow. Kamala gestured toward a chair across from her.
"Have a seat," she said simply, taking her own place behind the desk.
The session began, and Samara found herself quickly immersed in Kamala's guidance. The older woman's teaching was deliberate and steady, her explanations clear and precise. At times, Samara struggled, stumbling over unfamiliar terms or principles, but Kamala's gentle reassurances steadied her nerves.
"You're doing well," Kamala said at one point, her tone soft but sincere. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
The hours flew by, and by the time they finished, the clock read 8 p.m., and darkness pressed heavily against the windows. Kamala tidied the desk, placing the materials into neat stacks, before sliding a binder filled with notes and study guides across the desk toward Samara.
"Review these before our next session," she instructed. "You'll find them useful."
Samara clutched the binder tightly, feeling a flush of gratitude. "Thank you," she murmured.
Kamala glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. "You're heading home now?"
Samara hesitated. "I was thinking of calling an Uber," she said.
"Or maybe finding a cheap hotel nearby for the night."
Kamala's expression shifted instantly, her usual calm tinged with concern. "A hotel? Alone? At this hour?" Her tone was sharp, but the warmth in her gaze softened the rebuke.
"It's not a big deal," Samara said quickly, trying to dismiss the concern. "I'll manage."
Kamala moved around the desk with surprising speed, her steps decisive. She stopped directly in front of Samara, resting a light hand on her shoulder. The touch was warm, grounding, and Samara felt her pulse quicken.
"No," Kamala said firmly.
"Absolutely not. You're not wandering around at this hour or standing outside in the cold. Sit down." Her voice softened as she added
"I'll call you a ride, and I'll pay for it. End of discussion."
Samara opened her mouth to protest, but Kamala had already turned away, pulling her phone from her pocket as she left the room. Her calm, measured voice drifted down the hallway as she made the arrangements.
Alone in the study, Samara reluctantly sank back into the chair, her emotions a swirl of embarrassment, gratitude, and something else she couldn't quite name. She stared at the binder in her lap, tracing its edges absently. Her thoughts wandered, replaying the warmth of Kamala's hand on her shoulder, the firm resolve in her voice, the way she—
A sudden, sharp click shattered the silence. Samara's head snapped toward the door, her heart lurching. Rising quickly, she crossed the room and tried the handle. It didn't budge.
Her breath quickened as panic prickled at the edges of her composure. "Professor Harris" she called, her voice unsteady. She jiggled the handle again, her movements growing frantic.
Outside, Kamala stood just out of sight, her arms crossed as she listened to the muffled rattling. She closed her eyes briefly, a flicker of irritation crossing her features.
"God, why is she panicking? " she murmured to herself, exhaling slowly before stepping forward. Her hand moved deliberately to the key, turning it with a decisive click.
The door swung open, revealing Samara frozen in place, her wide eyes locked on Kamala. The intensity of the moment hung between them, the air heavy and charged.
"I told you to sit," Kamala said, her tone calm but laced with quiet authority.
Kamala stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she watched Samara's face flicker with a mix of confusion and anger. For a split second, Samara's eyes flashed with a defiance ready to lash out, but it quickly disappeared. Kamala knew that look too well, it was the look of someone who was being forced to keep their composure, but her thoughts were clearly running wild.
Samara shook her head, "I didn't mean to—" Samara began, but her words faltered as she backed away toward the chair, her steps shaky.
Kamala took a step forward, towering over her now. Samara, caught off guard, collapsed back into the chair, her eyes not meeting Kamala's. She stared down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them in frustration, the sound of her rapid breathing filling the silence.
Was she going to hit her?
As she spoke again, Kamala's voice was softer this time, tinged with a trace of guilt, as she crouched beside Samara. "I locked the door because I thought someone had entered my home. I didn't want you walking into anything dangerous."
Samara blinked, her throat tightening. "I... I wasn't— door" Her words trailed off as her eyes meant Kamala again, her brain turned to mush in an instant, and she shook her head, the tension in her face slowly beginning to fade.
"I understand. I didn't mean to panic. It's just—" She stopped herself, biting her lip, not quite sure how to explain.
Kamala nodded slowly, her eyes softening. She could see Samara was trying to make sense of her, just as she was trying to make sense of her.
She didn't mind, the way her face flushed whenever she got this close was enough to say it all.
"I get it. But you need to trust me, Mara." She sighed, rising to her feet. Her eyes flickered to the phone in her hand, where a notification caught her attention.
Her gaze shifted, and she frowned as she read the message before glancing back at Samara. "Your ride's here."
Samara didn't say anything, but she stood up, still unsteady, her face a mix of relief and embarrassment. Kamala moved aside to let her pass, silently watching as Samara walked down the hallway, grabbed her things and left.
Kamala watched her disappear down the path, she could hear her car pulling away, and she stood there for a moment. Once the car was out of sight, Kamala turned back toward the study, but something on the desk caught her attention. Samara's laptop.
Kamala picked up Samara's laptop, her fingers brushing over the sleek surface. Her lips curled into a small smirk as she carried it to her desk, placing it neatly in front of her chair. Sitting down, she ran her fingers across the keyboard, tapping a few buttons until the screen illuminated, revealing Samara's desktop.
It was all there, documents, messages, emails, and even synced notifications from Samara's phone.
Kamala leaned back in her chair, her smirk fading into a look of deep thought as she scrolled through folders.
She liked this, having access to everything.
Knowing things Samara probably wouldn't tell her, things Samara might not want her to know.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding Kamala of the hour. Her eyes flicked to it—8:12. There was time, plenty of it, but not now. She shut the laptop with a soft click and stood, smoothing her hands over her pants before leaving the study.
---
Samara's sneakers barely made a sound as she slipped into her dorm, the door creaking slightly as it closed behind her. She exhaled, relieved to be out of Kamala's orbit, but as she turned, she was greeted by the smell of weed and the sight of Tazara perched on the windowsill.
Tazara turned her head, a teasing grin on her lips as she blew out a cloud of smoke.
"Look who's home. Where have you been, babe?" she joked, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Out with your secret lover?"
Samara rolled her eyes, tossing her bag onto her bed. "You're not funny."
"Oh, I'm hilarious," Tazara shot back, leaning into the joke with an exaggerated pout. "I've been here all alone, waiting for you like some lonely housewife. You didn't even text."
Samara sighed, kicking off her shoes. "It's been a long night, Taz."
Tazara squinted at her, blowing another puff of smoke. "Yeah, I bet it has. You look like someone read your diary... "
Samara froze for a moment, her mind flashing to Kamala. She forced a smile, brushing off the comment as she climbed onto her bed. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously right." Tazara snickered, hopping down from the windowsill.
Tazara flopped onto her bed, sprawling out dramatically as she grinned at Samara. "You know, word around campus is you left with someone special tonight, someone older*" she teased, dragging out the last word.
Samara froze mid-motion, her heart skipping a beat. "What? Who said that?" she stammered, her voice an octave higher than normal.
"Oh, so it is true!" Tazara cackled, propping herself up on her elbows.
"I knew it. Spill, who is it?"
Samara shook her head quickly, scrambling for an excuse. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was just—"
"Shit!" Samara suddenly cursed, her hands flying to her forehead.
"I left my laptop at Professor Harris' house."
Tazara sat bolt upright, her jaw dropping. "Wait, what? You were at Professor Harris' house? Mara, are you serious?"
Samara groaned, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over her head. "Don't make this a thing, Tazara. Please."
"Oh, no, no, no. This is a thing," Tazara said, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Are you sleeping with her? Oh my god, you're sleeping with her, aren't you?"
Samara yanked the pillow tighter against her face, her muffled voice breaking through. "I'm not! Shut up, Taz."
Tazara leaned in closer, poking Samara's side. "You so are! Is she grading your essays with little hearts now? Or maybe extra credit? "
"Stop it!" Samara shot up, her cheeks blazing. "We're not sleeping together." She paused, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Not that I haven't thought about it, but I shouldn't. I wouldn't."
Tazara gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. "Oh my god, you totally have the hots for Professor Harris! Samara, this is gold."
"Taz, please," Samara begged, her voice softer now. "Can you just keep this to yourself? It's not like that. At least, not really."
Tazara raised an eyebrow. "Not really? You just said you want to jump her bones."
Samara glared at her, grabbing the pillow again to bury her face. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't say it?"
Samara sighed heavily, lowering the pillow enough to meet Tazara's eyes.
"It's not just about that. She's... I don't know, she's been acting weird around me. Targeting me, maybe? Or something. I can't figure it out. She's too nice, but it's not normal, she's not normal. And I don't hate it, but I hate where it could go, you know?"
Tazara leaned back, crossing her arms as a mischievous smile spread across her face. "Girl, you're living in a whole-ass forbidden romance novel right now. Stop being scared"
"Shut up, Taz."
"Never." Tazara laughed, but she softened, her tone more serious.
"Look, I won't say anything. But Mara, just... be careful, okay? Whatever's happening, don't let her mess with your head, or your future."
Samara nodded reluctantly, her chest tight with the weight of Tazara's words. "Thanks, Taz."
Tazara flopped back onto her bed, waving a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. But if this turns into some steamy scandal, I want details."
Samara threw the pillow at her, finally cracking a small, reluctant smile.
Time moved slowly as Samara lay in bed, she couldn't shake the lingering sensation of a dream trying to consume her.
The following day, Samara found herself anticipating Kamala's arrival, her mind consumed by the desires she had discovered. As Kamala walked into the study, a sense of anticipation washed over Samara. She tried to quell the excitement, but it was no use - her body betrayed her, reacting to Kamala's presence with a fervor that she couldn't explain.
As Kamala settled into her chair, Samara couldn't help but notice the way her eyes seemed to appraise her, as if sizing her up for some unknown purpose. The air in the room grew thick with tension, and Samara felt her heart race with anticipation.
Without warning, Kamala rose from her chair, her eyes flashing with a fiery intensity. "Stand up, Samara," she commanded, her voice low and sultry.
Samara's body responded instinctively, her legs trembling as she rose to her feet. Kamala's gaze lingered on her, her eyes roaming over Samara's body with an unnerving intensity.
"You've been a bad girl, Samara," she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction.
Samara's breath caught in her throat as Kamala's fingers reached out, her touch feather-light as she traced a path down Samara's spine. "You know you deserve punishment," she continued, her words sending shivers down Samara's spine.
Without warning, Kamala's hand slammed down on Samara's ass, the impact sending a wave of pleasure-pain coursing through her. Samara gasped, her body arching in response to the spanking.
As the spanking continued, Samara's pleas for mercy were met with Kamala's taunting laughter.
"You like this, don't you?" she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You like being bad."
The words sent a jolt of desire through Samara, her body reacting to the humiliation and pleasure. As Kamala's hand connected with her skin once more, Samara let out a moan, her body trembling with passion.
At that moment, Samara knew that she was lost. She had crossed a line, and there was no turning back. The thrill had consumed her, and she was powerless to resist.
As Kamala finally released her, Samara collapsed onto the desk, her body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. Kamala's eyes gleamed with a mixture of triumph and satisfaction as she gazed down at her.
"You've learned your lesson, haven't you?" she whispered.
"You know you need me to keep you in line."
Samara's eyes locked with Kamala's, her body still reeling from the encounter.
And as Kamala's lips descended upon hers, Samara didn't want to resist the pull of this tantalizing obsession.
December 10th
Samara lay in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin as she stared at the ceiling, her mind running wild with memories from the night before. Sleep was an impossible. Bags had formed under her eyes. The room was dim, the early morning light barely filtering through the blinds, "You didn't sleep, did you?" Tazara's voice cut through the silence, groggy but amused. Samara turned her head slightly to see her roommate sitting up, her hair a mess and her eyes half-lidded.
Samara hesitated before responding, her voice soft and reluctant. "No."
Tazara smirked, leaning back against her pillows. "Let me guess. You were thinking about Professor Harris."
Samara groaned, pulling the blanket over her face. "Taz, don't."
"Oh, come on," Tazara teased, her tone a mix of playful curiosity and genuine concern. "What happened last night? You've been weird ever since you got back."
Samara lowered the blanket, her eyes meeting Tazara's. "It's... complicated."
Tazara raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. "Complicated how? Did she do something?"
Samara hesitated, her mind flashing back to the study, to the locked door, to Kamala's intense gaze and the tension that had crackled between them. "She locked me in her study," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tazara's eyes widened. "She what?"
"I don't think it was on purpose," Samara quickly added, though the words felt hollow.
"At least, I'm not sure. She said she thought someone had broken in, but..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "The way she acted after... it was like she caught me doing something wrong. Like she was testing me or something."
Tazara leaned forward, her expression serious now. "Testing you how?"
Samara swallowed hard, her throat tight. "She... she looked at me like she was trying to figure me out. And when she unlocked the door, it was like she... I don't know. It felt calculated. Like she knew exactly what she was doing."
"That's... weird," Tazara said slowly. "And you're sure it wasn't just a misunderstanding?"
"I thought that at first," Samara admitted.
"But then she kept looking at me like she knew something I didn't. And the way she touched my shoulder..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she remembered the warmth of Kamala's hand, the way it had both grounded and unnerved her.
Tazara's eyes narrowed. "Do you think she's messing with you? Like, on purpose?"
Samara shook her head, conflicted. "I don't know. Maybe? It's like she's trying to get inside my head. And it's working."
"Okay, but why?" Tazara pressed. "What would she even gain from that?"
Samara exhaled, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "I have no idea. But it's driving me crazy. I keep replaying everything in my head, trying to make sense of it, but nothing adds up."
Tazara studied her for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer. "What do you want to happen, Mara? With her?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Samara closed her eyes, her mind racing. What did she want? To understand Kamala? To escape her? Or was it something else entirely?
"I don't know," she admitted finally. "I... I just want to stop feeling like this. Like I'm caught in some kind of trap. But..."
"But what"
"I think I like her"
Kamala hummed softly to herself as she moved around the kitchen, the aroma of sizzling bacon filling the air. Slippered feet barely making a sound against the polished tiles. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over her figure. She wore an oversized shirt and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, her hair loosely tied back. Music played in the background—a jazzy tune that she occasionally swayed to as she swayed in time with the music, flipping a pancake with a graceful flick of her wrist. With a deft hand, she plated the food and poured herself a glass of wine, a cheeky indulgence for her morning. She glanced at the counter and picked up her plate, carrying it to her study. Samara laptop sat on the polished wooden desk, and she settled into the chair, placing her food neatly beside her.
Kamala's eyes lingered on the laptop, her expression growing contemplative. Should she really go through Samara's laptop? The thought gnawed at her. What would she even find? Samara didn't strike her as the type to leave anything incriminating lying around. But then again, Kamala couldn't shake the curiosity bubbling under the surface. She drummed her fingers against the desk, debating with herself, before sighing and pushing the laptop aside.
Instead, she turned her attention to the stack of papers on the desk. Grading the last of her students' tests proved to be a productive distraction. Kamala finished her food as she worked, the glass of wine adding a subtle relaxation to her focused demeanor. When the last paper was marked, she leaned back in her chair, stretching as her gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the trees swayed gently in the breeze, their branches casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. It was the weekend, and for once, Kamala had no pressing obligations.
Her thoughts wandered back to Samara, her 'intriguing' student, she wouldn't dance around it, she loved her, loved her badly and wanted her all the same. The idea of speaking with her again crossed her mind, and she smiled to herself, shaking her head at her own musings, god she's scared you half to death the night before.
She recalled Samara face flushing and her cheeks turning red, her shallow breaths, tensed muscles to control whatever her body screamed for her to do.
Meanwhile, Samara lay sprawled on her bed, her laptop open in front of her. Tazara had left for work, leaving the dorm unusually quiet. Samara's eyes skimmed over the material Kamala had given her to study, though her mind was only half on the task. As she flipped through the document, she noticed something at the end: Kamala's contact information.
Samara hesitated, her heart racing.
Should she call?
It would be easy to justify, to come up with a plausible reason to ask questions about the material. But she knew, deep down, that her curiosity wasn't purely academic.
The number had been attached to the syllabus, a direct line for any student questions. It felt like an open invitation, and Samara had convinced herself it would be easy to fabricate a reason to call. A simple question about the reading, maybe, or a clarification on one of the concepts.
After a few moments of deliberation, she tapped the number into her phone and hit the phone. The line rang twice before Kamala's voice came through, warm and composed.
"Hello" her prepared lines evaporated like mist under the sun.
"Uh, hi, Professor," Samara stammered, her heart thudding.
"I, uh, had a question about the... um... criminal bonds section."
Kamala hummed, a knowing lilt in her voice. "Criminal bonds, huh? I thought you understood that section pretty well yesterday. Didn't you answer the last question correctly?"
Samara's mind raced, her initial confidence unraveling. "Oh, well... yeah, I did, but I just wanted to make sure I really, uh, got it, you know?" Her lie felt flimsy, full of holes even to her own ears.
"I see," Kamala said, drawing out the words.
"Well, let's go over it then. I wouldn't want you to keep struggling."
If only she knew what she was really struggling with...
Samara exhaled shakily, grateful Kamala hadn't called her bluff outright. But then Kamala's voice dropped, her tone shifting to something slower, deeper, and undeniably seductive. "When we talk about criminal bonds," she began, "we're discussing relationships of obligation. Connections forged under pressure, binding people together in ways they might not always expect."
This had nothing to do with what Samara had asked, she was going on about actual bonds, and not ones between criminals.
Samara felt a tingling warmth bloom in her stomach, her grip on the phone tightening as Kamala continued. "It's about tension, really. The push and pull. Like... being tied to someone. You can resist, but there's a thrill in the restraint. Don't you think so?"
Her breath hitched, and she sank deeper into her bed, zoning out as Kamala's words wrapped around her like silk. The way Kamala spoke—slowly, deliberately, with a hint of playfulness—made her pulse race. Samara barely registered the content anymore; it was all about the sound of her voice.
"And what do you know about bondage?" Kamala's question cut through Samara's haze, snapping her back to reality.
"What?" she blurted, choking on the word.
Kamala chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down Samara's spine. "I said, do you understand now? Or do you need me to explain it again?"
Samara scrambled to collect herself, heat flooding her face. "No, no, I got it. Thanks, Professor."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind going over it one more time," Kamala teased, her voice light but undeniably suggestive.
"I'm sure," Samara said quickly, her voice cracking slightly. "Thanks again."
She ended the call abruptly, staring at the phone as if it had burned her. On the other end, Kamala sat back in her chair, staring at the dropped call with a sly smile tugging at her lips.
"Well," Kamala murmured to herself as she say her phone down
Samara lay in bed, her phone clutched in one hand as she stared up at the ceiling. Her mind was spinning, replaying Kamala's teasing voice over and over. The way her professor's words had dipped into that lower, sultry tone—it had ignited something deep in her that she couldn't quite shake. She bit her lip, letting the fantasy unfurl in her mind.
What would it even be like to be with Kamala?
To cross that line between student and professor?
Samara had always known she liked women. Black, white, it didn't matter; she found beauty in them all. But no one had ever made her feel this way. Kamala was different—older, confident, and exuding a an allure that left Samara breathless.
Her stomach fluttered as she imagined Kamala's hands on her, her lips brushing against her neck, her voice whispering things that made her knees weak. Samara groaned, rolling onto her side, burying her face in the pillow.
"Get it together, Sam," she muttered to herself.
Before she could dwell too long, her phone buzzed. It was Kamala again, but this time, the text was practical.
Kamala-
Hey, just a reminder your laptop is still here.
Samara stared at the message, her heart racing. She debated what to do, and before she could think better of it, she hit the call button. Kamala answered almost immediately, her voice as smooth as ever.
"Samara. Couldn't stay away, huh?"
Samara's mouth went dry. "Uh, hi. I just... I was wondering if I could come by and pick up my laptop?"
There was a pause on the other end, and Samara could almost hear the smile in Kamala's voice when she responded.
"You could," Kamala said slowly. "But that's a long drive just for a laptop. Why don't you stay for dinner instead? You can even bring Tazara if you want."
Samara hesitated. "Dinner?"
"Yes, dinner," Kamala replied, her tone playful. "I'm a good cook, you know. Unless you're scared? Wouldn't it be fun to get drunk with your professor"
She didn't want to answer that.
Samara's heart thudded in her chest. "Sounds like a date," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Kamala laughed, a low, warm sound that sent a thrill through Samara. "You wish," she teased, and then the call ended before Samara could respond.
Still clutching her phone, Samara stared at the screen. A moment later, another text came through.
Kamala-
Here's the address 💕
Samara swallowed hard, staring at the heart emoji like it might explode. She quickly copied the address and sent it to Tazara, adding a note:
Samara-
We're having dinner at Professor Harris's place. Meet there.
Tazara's response was immediate.
Tazara -
What?! What kind of professor invites students to dinner? Is this even allowed?
Samara rolled her eyes, though she couldn't entirely disagree with the sentiment. But she didn't have time to debate it. She pushed herself off the bed, her nerves jittering as she got ready to leave. With one last glance at her phone, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door, Kamala's address locked in her mind. Samara stepped out of her dorm, clutching her bag tightly as she walked down the hall.
The buzz of chatter and laughter surrounded her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that every pair of eyes was fixed on her. Students glanced her way, some with curious expressions, others whispering behind their hands. Her stomach churned as paranoia crept in.
Do they know?
she thought.
Do they think...
Her mind raced, envisioning a rumor spreading like wildfire: Samara and Professor Harris. They're... together. The idea both terrified and thrilled her.
By the time she reached her car, her heart was pounding. As she slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, a small, nervous laugh escaped her lips. The thought that people might think she and Kamala were involved felt scandalous—and intoxicating. She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she pulled out of the lot, the idea replaying in her mind.
Halfway down the road, she found herself smiling. Her hands tingled as she imagined Kamala's hand brushing against hers, her voice low and teasing. The thought was so vivid that Samara's breath hitched. She could almost feel Kamala's fingers trailing up her thigh, the warmth of her touch creeping higher. Her eyes widened, and she jerked the wheel slightly, pulling the car back into her lane as her heart raced for an entirely different reason.
"I'm in love?" she whispered, the words tumbling out like a question and a declaration all at once.
She bit her lip, trying to shake the thought, but it clung to her. No matter how wrong it felt, how utterly forbidden, she couldn't deny it any longer. She was falling for her professor, and the thrill was undeniable.
As she approached Kamala's address, her pulse quickened. The house came into view, a modest but elegant place with warm lights glowing in the windows. Samara parked and took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. She stepped out of the car, smoothing her hands over her jeans as she walked to the door.
Before she could knock, the door opened, and there stood Kamala, a soft smile playing on her lips. She looked effortlessly stunning, dressed in casual clothing that made Samara's knees feel weak.
"You're early," Kamala said, her voice carrying that same teasing warmth.
Samara managed a shaky smile. "I didn't want to get lost."
Kamala's eyes sparkled. "Come on in. Make yourself comfortable." She stepped aside, and Samara entered, the scent of something delicious wafting through the air.
Again she left her jacket and shoes at the door.
Samara's gaze wandered as she took in the cozy, stylish interior. It was exactly how she imagined Kamala's home would be, yet she had been here before and paid it no mind. Her professor led her to the living room, where soft music played in the background.
"Tazara should be here soon," Kamala said, pouring a glass of wine. She handed it to Samara, her fingers brushing lightly against hers. The touch sent a jolt through Samara, and she quickly took the glass, her cheeks burning.
"Thank you," Samara murmured, taking a sip to steady herself. As Kamala moved back to the kitchen, Samara's mind raced again. Being here felt surreal, like stepping into a dream she didn't want to wake from.
She was falling for her professor, and for the first time, she wasn't sure she wanted to stop.