The rain had stopped by dawn, but the world still felt heavy with it. Hannah woke before her alarm, the faint light of early morning spilling through the curtains. For a few seconds, she lay still, hoping that quiet would wash the night from her mind.
It didn't.
She could still feel the pulse of it — the closeness, the sharp breath, the silence that had nearly become something else. She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look in Emma's — steady, open, terrifying in its honesty.
By the time she made it to school, the hallways buzzed with the ordinary rhythm of morning. Children chattered, lockers slammed, the smell of paper and coffee filled the air. It should have felt normal. It didn't.
Hannah smiled through the motions — greeting students, trading jokes with colleagues — but her mind wasn't with her body. It hovered somewhere between last night's quiet and the memory of a hand brushing her hair away.
At lunch, she sat alone in her classroom, pretending to grade essays. Outside, gulls wheeled over the playground, their cries sharp against the stillness.
She tried to focus on the words in front of her, but they blurred together. You deserve more.
Emma's voice wouldn't leave her.
It wasn't just what she'd said — it was the way she'd said it, like it was simple truth. Like believing it was the easiest thing in the world.
Hannah closed her eyes. She'd built her life carefully, each choice deliberate and safe. But with one look, one almost-moment, Emma had shifted the ground beneath her.
She wasn't angry. Just… unmoored.
The intercom buzzed suddenly, making her jump. "Ms. Carter? Ms. Lawson is here a few minutes early for your afternoon session."
Hannah's stomach tightened. "Thank you. Send her down."
She smoothed her hair, forced her heartbeat to slow. But when the door opened and Emma stepped in — sunlight on her shoulders, sketchpad under her arm — all the calm she'd rehearsed vanished.
For a second, neither spoke. The air between them hummed with what had almost been said.
Then Emma smiled, careful and polite. "Morning."
Hannah nodded, her voice steady only through effort. "Morning. The supplies are set up already."
"Good," Emma said softly. "Let's get started."
And just like that, they moved through the motions — painting, planning, pretending. But beneath every exchanged glance, every shared silence, the echo of last night remained.
The almost lingered — not gone, not forgotten — waiting for its chance to become something real.