Elira would lean against the lockers,
her eyes fixed on Sayuri, and everyone noticed the charge in the air. But no
one dared say anything. Elira's family was powerful, her father a businessman
with money old enough to silence gossip. Sayuri's parents were millionaires in
their own right. Together, they were untouchable. And still, their fire burned
too brightly to stay hidden. It started small. Brushed hands under the desk.
Passing notes scribbled with words that lingered long after the paper was gone.
Lingering glances across classrooms, mouths twitching with secret smiles. Then
one afternoon, in the shadow of the gym storage room, it burst open. Sayuri had
been tugged inside, the door clicking shut behind them, the smell of dust and
leather filling the air. Before she could speak, Elira pressed her back against
the shelves, her lips crashing against hers. Sayuri gasped into the kiss, her
hands flying to Elira's blazer, clutching tight. Their mouths moved
desperately, teeth clashing, breath mixing. Sayuri moaned against her, the
sound muffled, raw. Elira's hands tangled in her hair, pulling, guiding,
demanding. It was frantic, hungry, their bodies pressed so close the air
disappeared between them. Sayuri's fingers dug into Elira's shoulders, nails
scraping through fabric. Elira kissed her harder, pulling her lower lip between
her teeth until Sayuri whimpered. "Mine," Elira whispered against her mouth,
her breath hot. Sayuri could only nod, too breathless to speak. The storage
room became their sanctuary. Lunch breaks stolen for tangled hair, flushed
cheeks, gasps muffled into jackets. Sayuri left every encounter trembling, lips
swollen, heart racing so hard she thought she might collapse. It wasn't enough.
Soon, Elira brought her to her bedroom—a space larger than Sayuri's entire
apartment, walls lined with shelves, a window spilling golden light across the
bed. The first time, Sayuri hesitated at the door, her chest tight. But Elira
pulled her in, pressed her against the wall, and kissed her until the hesitation
dissolved. They spent hours there—wrapped in sheets, tangled together,
whispering secrets against each other's skin. Sayuri learned the sound of
Elira's laughter, the way her voice dropped when she wanted something, the way
her eyes darkened when she was hungry for more. Their love was fire. Too
bright, too consuming. And still, they weren't afraid of being seen. At the
park, they sat on the swings, their hands linked openly. Sayuri leaned in,
kissed her in front of everyone. People stared, whispered—but no one confronted
them. Everyone knew, but no one dared to speak. Sayuri remembered the way
Elira's hand squeezed hers after, the quiet smile that said let them look. The
memories crashed into her like a storm. Each one vivid, alive, burning her from
the inside out. She could feel Elira's mouth again, the weight of her hands,
the sting of her teeth, the heat of their laughter. She gripped her robe
tighter, her body trembling in the cool morning air. Asan was still watching
her, his brow furrowed, his voice breaking into her reverie. "Sayuri…" he said
softly. "What happened?" Sayuri swallowed hard. Her lips parted, but no sound
came. The truth pressed against her chest, heavy, unbearable. She couldn't tell
him. She couldn't even look at him. Instead, she turned her gaze away, her
heartbeat loud in her ears, the echoes of her past and her present colliding,
leaving her standing in the ruins of both.