The words slipped out of her mouth before she even realized it.
"Teacher?"
The classroom went silent. Every pair of eyes turned toward Chiamanda. Even she froze, lips parting as if she could swallow the word back into her throat. Her cheeks flushed hot, and her stomach dropped.
The principal, Madam Johnson, raised a brow. A petite woman with sunburned skin and a sharp presence, she didn't miss much. Her eyes narrowed, settling on Chiamanda.
"Why did you say that, Miss Donald?" she asked, her tone even but laced with suspicion.
Chiamanda's heart thudded so loud she thought everyone could hear it. She opened her mouth once, twice, stammering like a fish gasping for air. "I–I… I didn't mean…" Her words tangled and died on her tongue. She looked down at her desk, wishing the ground would open and swallow her.
Before the silence stretched too long, Caesar's deep voice cut through smoothly.
"Maybe because I look too young for the role," he said with a half-smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. "It happens often. Students don't expect someone my age to teach mathematics."
A ripple of laughter moved through the class. Madam Johnson studied him for a beat longer, then chuckled. "Hmm. You may be right, Mr. White. But I hope both teacher and students remember their boundaries." She gave the room a knowing look, though her eyes flicked to Chiamanda once more before she turned toward the door. "No distractions in my school. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," the students chorused, voices blending in uneven harmony.
"Good. Then I'll leave you to your lesson." With that, Madam Johnson clicked her heels against the tiled floor and exited, shutting the door behind her.
Chiamanda let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her palms were damp, and she rubbed them against her skirt, trying to steady her nerves. She dared a glance at Caesar.
He was smiling. Not the polite smile of a new teacher, but something sharper, something that curled at the edges of his lips like he knew more than anyone else in the room. His gaze flicked to her—just for a second—then back to the rest of the class as though nothing unusual had happened.
He stepped forward and faced the students with an easy confidence, hands clasped behind his back. "Well then," he began, voice deep and smooth, "let's try this again. My name is Caesar White. I'm from Country Y, and I'll be your mathematics teacher for the rest of the term. I know math doesn't exactly make hearts race…" A few chuckles rose in the room. "…but maybe we'll survive together, eh?"
The class laughed lightly, tension easing. Girls whispered to one another, some already blushing at the way he rolled up his sleeves, veins lining his forearms like artistry. The boys sized him up with a mix of admiration and envy.
But Chiamanda didn't laugh. Her mind was still spinning, replaying his words, his glance, his smile. The more she tried to focus on the lesson, the more her stomach twisted. Too young for the role. Was that really why he'd said it—or had he just protected her?
She gripped her pen tighter. For some reason, she didn't want to know the answer.
For the next forty-five minutes, Caesar taught with the kind of ease that made even the most restless students sit straighter. He didn't just scribble equations on the board—he broke them down, weaving jokes in between formulas, asking questions in a way that made even the laziest students want to raise their hands.
Every so often, though, his eyes would drift. Not to the clock, not to the scribbled notes on the chalkboard, but to her. To Chiamanda.
Each time she caught him staring, heat prickled at the back of her neck, and she quickly bent over her notes, pretending to write harder than she actually was. Her heart raced in her chest, a wild rhythm she couldn't control.
And then it happened.
He turned from the board, marker still in hand, and scanned the room. His gaze landed squarely on her. A slow, deliberate wink followed—so quick no one else would notice if they weren't paying attention.
Chiamanda's breath hitched. She blinked rapidly, caught between shock and disbelief. Did that really just happen?
Behind her, Gladys—slim, fair, with eyes sharp like razors—caught the moment from a different angle. She saw Caesar's wink and felt certain it was for her. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She pressed a hand against her chest, lips curving into a shy smile. All through the rest of the lesson, Gladys sat straighter, batting her lashes whenever Caesar glanced vaguely in her direction.
Chiamanda didn't miss it. She felt the shift behind her, the way Gladys's chair creaked with excitement. A pang of irritation rose in her, though she didn't understand why. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to focus on her notes, her handwriting growing messier with each passing second.
Finally, the bell rang, releasing the class into noisy relief. Students packed their books, chairs scraping across the floor. Caesar leaned against the desk at the front, his arms folded loosely as he waited for the room to settle.
"Before you go," his voice cut through the chatter, "who's the class rep here?"
A dozen heads swiveled. Almost in unison, the class answered, "Chiamanda!"
Her heart sank to her stomach. She wanted to disappear, but Caesar's smile found her like a spotlight. He nodded once, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
"Good. Chiamanda, bring the class exercise books to my office after school."
A murmur of whispers rolled through the classroom. Some girls giggled. Gladys's smile faltered, replaced by a tight frown. She gathered her books with jerky movements, her eyes burning holes into the back of Chiamanda's head.
Chiamanda, meanwhile, sat frozen. She could feel the weight of Caesar's request pressing on her chest. When she finally stood to collect the pile of exercise books, her legs felt like stone.
His office.
The words echoed in her head.
The staff block was quieter than the classrooms. Chiamanda's shoes tapped softly against the tiled corridor as she carried the heavy stack of exercise books, each step weighing her down more than the last. She paused at the door marked Mathematics Office, her stomach twisting in knots.
She knocked gently.
"Come in," Caesar's voice called from inside, smooth and steady.
She pushed the door open. Caesar sat behind a desk, jacket off, sleeves still rolled to his elbows. Papers lay scattered in front of him, though his eyes weren't on them. The moment she entered, his gaze lifted—straight to her.
"Drop the books here," he said, pointing to the corner of the desk.
Chiamanda obeyed quickly, setting them down with more force than she intended. She straightened and took a step back, ready to leave. But Caesar leaned forward, folding his hands, and spoke again.
"Friday night," he said softly.
Her heart skipped a beat. She froze, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. His expression was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth curved in a knowing smile.
"I remember it clearly," he continued, voice lowering, as if sharing a secret meant only for her. "The way you looked at me. The way you tried to fight yourself ‐against me"
Chiamanda's breath caught in her throat. Heat spread across her face, but she forced herself to frown, to stand tall even though her knees trembled. "Mr. White," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "What happened that night… it was a mistake. You're a teacher, and I'm a student. We can't…" Her words trailed off.
Caesar tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. He rose from his chair, closing the distance between them with measured steps. He stopped just in front of her, not touching, but close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"Then we won't," he said simply, his grin widening. "Not here. Not in this school." His gaze softened, though it carried a dangerous gleam. "But outside these walls?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's a different story."
Chiamanda's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her mind screamed no, but her body betrayed her, frozen in place. She finally found her voice, stammering, "I—I don't know what you're talking about."
Caesar chuckled, low and rich. "You're brave, Chiamanda. You hide it well, but I see through you." His eyes darkened, the playful edge giving way to something fiercer. "You've been hurt. Someone has broken you. But I…" His jaw tightened, and for the briefest moment, a shadow crossed his face. "I won't let that happen again. Whoever touched you before will regret it."
His sudden intensity made her chest tighten. For a second, she believed him—believed he could protect her from the monsters in her life. But then reality struck. He was her teacher. He was dangerous.
She took a step back, clutching her bag tighter. "I need to go."
Caesar's grin returned, gentler this time. "Of course." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated politeness. "Class reps have important duties, after all."
Without another word, Chiamanda pushed the door open and walked out, her heart pounding in her chest. The corridor felt cooler, freer, but her mind was tangled in a storm.
Behind her, Caesar stood at the doorway, watching her retreating figure.
She thinks she can run from me. That what happened Friday was chance. No. It was fate.
Her fire calls to me, even through the fear in her eyes. She is mine to protect, mine to claim, mine to keep safe from the filth that dares touch her. They will suffer—every last one of them.
He smirked faintly, adjusting his glasses.
Soon, she'll understand.