Chapter Seven: Zoology Lessons and Subtle Disasters
The next Saturday morning arrived far too quickly for Amaya's fragile nerves. She sat at the kitchen table, zoology textbook open, pencils lined up like tiny soldiers. Her notes were neat—or at least, they looked neat from a distance—but the numbers, diagrams, and Latin terms made her stomach twist.
When Aris arrived, he carried an air of silent authority, as if the mere act of standing in the doorway gave him ownership of the room.
Black t-shirt, jeans, books under his arm. His hair was slightly messier than usual, and he squinted at her with the same intensity he always used when evaluating a patient—or, as she was beginning to realize, a student who had somehow survived botany.
"Amaya," he greeted, neutral but commanding. He slid the chair across from her with a precise, definitive scrape of wood. "Zoology. Focus. We have two hours."
"Right," she muttered, straightening in her seat. Her palms were already sweaty.
He opened the textbook and flicked a finger across the first page. "We'll start with the basics of anatomy. Identify the major systems of the mammalian body. Go."
Amaya scribbled furiously. "Okay—um… skeletal, muscular, circulatory… respiratory… digestive… nervous…"
"Say that again," he said, voice flat. His glasses glinted in the morning light.
"Skeletal, muscular, circulatory, respiratory, digestive, nervous…" she repeated, a little faster.
"Why the hesitation on the endocrine system?" he asked, leaning forward, eyes sharp.
"I… um…" She blinked. "I forgot it?"
He exhaled sharply, his hand reaching forward to tug her earlobe with a swift pinch.
"Ow! Hey!" she yelped.
"That's for hesitation," he said, voice low but teasingly clipped. "Attention. Focus. Repeat."
Her ears burned—not just from the tug but from the sheer proximity of him. He leaned slightly over her shoulder to watch her write, and she could smell the faint scent of soap and old books that always accompanied him. It was infuriating. And… weirdly comforting.
"Alright," he said after a moment, letting go, "let's tackle diagrams. Draw a simplified human circulatory system. Start with the heart, then arteries, veins. And label them correctly."
Amaya picked up her pencil, hand shaking slightly. "I… I can do this," she said, though her voice betrayed her uncertainty.
He leaned close, hovering just a little too near as she drew, correcting her with small nudges of his hand on her paper. "No, the aorta doesn't go here. Rotate the heart. Yes, like that." He lightly tapped the paper again, pointing with two fingers.
"Like… this?" she asked, cheeks heating.
"Yes. Better. But the veins are backwards. Focus." He pinched her nose gently—not painfully, just enough to make her blink and flinch.
"Ow! Stop touching me!" she protested, though a small part of her heart fluttered at the closeness.
"That's for carelessness," he said, matter-of-fact, tapping her pencil for emphasis. "Precision matters."
She bit her lip, trying to concentrate while feeling her brain short-circuit under the heat of embarrassment. He was so close she could see the faint crease between his eyebrows, the curve of his jaw, the shadow of a dimple when he frowned at a mistake. And every time his hand brushed hers, she felt an impossible little spark of… something.
By the time they moved on to mammals' skeletal systems, Amaya's notebook was a riot of diagrams, arrows, and frantic scribbles.
"Check the femur," he said, pointing again. "You labeled it 'funeral bone.' What is a funeral bone?"
Amaya froze. "I… I… I don't know!" She waved her hands helplessly.
He leaned forward, brushing her hair back from her forehead in the process. "This," he said softly but firmly, tapping her pencil with his finger, "is the femur. It supports weight. Not funerals."
She blushed furiously. "Right. Femur. Got it. I swear."
And so it continued. Each mistake brought a gentle tug, a tap, a nudge, sometimes a light pinch. Every correction, every close-over-shoulder explanation, sent her pulse soaring and her brain fogging over. She tried to focus on the diagrams, the names, the functions, but her heart refused to behave.
At one point, she mislabelled the tibia and fibula. He leaned in, nudged her shoulder lightly with his hand, and muttered, "Do you want me to draw it for you?"
"Yes… please?" she said, almost too eagerly.
He drew the bones swiftly, efficiently, then leaned back, adjusting his glasses. "Copy it exactly. No shortcuts. Details matter."
"Yes, sir," she said, voice trembling. She kept her eyes on the page, but she felt his presence—warm, inescapable—just over her shoulder.
Hours passed. He didn't raise his voice, didn't scold in anger, but every small correction, every twitch of disapproval, made her hyper-aware of him. And she liked that.
Liam, having wandered into the kitchen midway through the session for a glass of water, gave her a teasing grin from the doorway. "Wow. You're really in trouble, huh?"
Amaya glared, though her cheeks were pink. "He's… he's teaching! And I'm… learning. Stop judging!"
Liam raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just saying, you're practically melting under his… supervision."
"Shut up, Liam!" she whispered sharply. But inwardly, she had to admit… yes. Every time he leaned close, every time he corrected her with touch, every time he guided her hand over a diagram, it made her heart do ridiculous things.
Aris looked up briefly at Liam, expression completely neutral. "She's improving. But not fast enough." Then his gaze returned to Amaya, calm, exacting, unflinching.
Amaya muttered under her breath, "I'll never be fast enough."
"Loud?" he asked, voice low, almost a growl. She jumped.
"I… I'm sorry," she stammered, covering her mouth with her hands.
"Concentrate. Speak only when necessary. And… pay attention."
"Yes, sir."
By the end of the session, she was exhausted, notebook crammed with notes, diagrams, and small reminders in the margins: "Femur, not funeral bone", "Pay attention—Aris is watching", "Do not faint".
Aris finally closed her textbook and leaned back. "Improvement is evident. More sessions required. Review before next Saturday." He paused, scanning her frazzled, flushed face. "And Amaya… do not confuse touch with affection. Focus on zoology. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," she breathed. Her pulse was still racing.
Liam appeared again, arms folded smugly. "So… you survived? And you didn't pass out or combust?"
Amaya groaned, throwing her head onto the sofa. "I survived… barely. And yes, I didn't combust. But… oh my god… Liam…" She waved her hands helplessly. "He's… he's so… so… perfect! And strict! And he keeps touching me when he corrects me and I can't handle it!"
Liam laughed, shaking his head. "You are ridiculous. You've been planning this for months, and now you're panicking because the guy actually exists and touches you? Classic."
"I… I don't know!" she admitted, hair falling over her face. "It's maddening! I like it! But it's humiliating too! And he's scolding me all the time! And I—"
"Breathe," Liam interrupted, sitting down next to her. "You're sixteen. He's… a guy. And yes, he's intimidating. But you survived. And more importantly…" He nudged her shoulder. "…you're not alone. You've got me to help you survive the aftermath."
Amaya let out a long, shaky breath, leaning against her brother. "Thanks, Liam. Seriously. I… I feel like I've been through a battlefield."
"You have," Liam said with a grin. "Botany and zoology: the two deadliest subjects. And Aris Rowon: the terrifying general."
Amaya snorted, finally allowing herself a laugh. "And yet… somehow… I want more."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Of tutoring? Or of… him?"
She slapped his arm lightly. "Shut up! Just… leave me alone for now."
But as she looked out the window at the Rowon house next door, her mind was already planning, scheming, imagining how the next session would go. Zoology might be a battlefield, Aris might be a relentless general, but she—Amaya Snow—was ready for the war. And maybe… just maybe… she wouldn't mind the casualties.