The rain hadn't stopped since last night. It hammered against the windows as though the sky itself wanted to wash away the memory of her.
I buried myself in lesson plans, in endless grading, in anything that would silence the echo of her voice. But it was no use. Amelia Hayes lived in every thought, every silence, every weakness I tried to deny.
And still, I avoided her. It was the only choice left.
Or so I thought.
"Group project," Alexander's voice announced as the lecture ended, his tone clipped and distant. "Three students per team. Choose wisely. Your grade will depend on your ability to cooperate."
The room buzzed with chatter as students shuffled into groups. I stayed in my seat, staring at the page of my notebook where my pen hadn't moved for the last hour.
"Amelia!" Clara hissed, tugging on my sleeve. "Come on, let's join—"
But before I could stand, a shadow loomed over me.
"Miss Hayes," Alexander's voice cut through the chaos. "You'll work with Mr. Daniels and Miss Lee."
I blinked, my stomach dropping. He had chosen for me. Something he rarely did. My eyes flicked up to him. His face was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on me one second too long.
Clara shot me a wide-eyed look from across the room, mouthing: He assigned you himself.
I didn't know whether to feel relief or dread.
I told myself it was coincidence. That I hadn't deliberately placed her in a group where I could watch from a safe distance. That I hadn't chosen her name first, then forced two others into the assignment just to hide the truth.
But when she looked at me—eyes wide, lips parted—I knew I had failed. Again.
She thought I was punishing her. And maybe, in a way, I was.
Punishing her for tempting me.
Punishing myself for giving in.
Three days later, the library smelled of dust and rain-soaked coats. I sat across from Mr. Daniels and Miss Lee, pretending to focus on the project notes, but my attention kept wandering.
He was there.
At a nearby table, Alexander sat with a stack of papers, glasses perched on his nose, his pen moving swiftly across assignments. He hadn't said a word to me since class. Not here, not anywhere. But I felt him. Every nerve in my body screamed his presence.
"Amelia?" Miss Lee's voice jolted me. "What do you think of this section?"
"Oh—yes. That looks fine," I stammered, cheeks burning.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance up. Just for a second. Just long enough to twist the knife deeper.
He was avoiding me. But he was watching me, too.
And that was worse.
She looked pale. Too pale.
I had told myself to keep my distance, but every time her hand trembled as she turned a page, every time she pressed a hand against her stomach when she thought no one was looking, I wanted to break my own rules.
I shouldn't care. I couldn't care. But I did.
And so I punished us both with silence.
"Enough," Clara said firmly, slamming her textbook shut. "You're sick, Amelia. You can't keep brushing this off."
"I'm fine," I whispered, but my voice lacked conviction. The nausea had grown worse. Some mornings I couldn't even stand without my stomach rebelling.
Clara crossed her arms. "Fine doesn't look like running to the restroom every morning. You're seeing a doctor. No more excuses."
I wanted to argue. To tell her she didn't understand. But as I curled up on my bed, exhaustion weighing me down, I knew s
he was right.
Something was happening to me.
And soon, I wouldn't be able to hide it anymore.
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