The Lines We Cross

"You’re so good at pretending, Professor." His voice was soft, dangerous, as he leaned across my desk. "Pretending you don’t remember. Pretending you don’t want me." I froze, my pen slipping from my hand. Noah Carter—nineteen, my student, the boy from that party. The one who’d haunted every night since. "Watch your tone," I snapped, but my voice shook. He smiled, slow and knowing. "Or what? You’ll fail me? Kick me out of class? Pretend you didn’t come undone for me, just like you’re pretending now?" Every day in lecture, every stolen glance, every quiet touch. He’s my forbidden temptation, and he’s not letting me escape.