Celeste

When Mr. Dominic walks into class, the air thickens. He has this way of commanding the room, like it’s his by default, like he’s just stepped into his own space. But today, there’s something different about him—a quiet intensity simmering beneath the surface as he writes the new topic on the board, his handwriting neat and slanted.

I’m sitting at the back, and when I send him an obvious signal—a look that I hold for just a beat longer than normal—I know he catches it. He has to. But he doesn’t acknowledge me. Not even a flicker.

The tension coils in my chest, tight and almost painful. I bite my lip, then force a cough, the sound harsh and sudden. “Sir, may I get some water?” I’m already halfway out of my seat, the cough turning real as it scratches at my throat. My eyes water as I await his response.

He nods, barely glancing up from the notes he’s scribbling. “Make it quick, Celeste.”

I slip out of the room, my heart beating too fast, my skin feeling too warm. It’s not water that I need. It’s space. The old storeroom down the hall is just a few steps away, and I duck inside. The room is dimly lit, a thin slice of light cutting through the darkness from a high window. The air is heavy with the scent of dust and old paper, and for a moment, it feels safe here. Like I can finally exhale.

But then, the floor creaks behind me, and my breath catches. I turn sharply. Mr. Dominic is standing in the doorway, his gaze flicking over me with a mix of concern and something else—something I can’t quite place.

“I heard you coughing,” he says, his voice steady but low. “Are you okay?”

I nod, but my hands tremble as I reach into my bag and pull out my English notebook. I flip to a page where I’d scribbled down something earlier—a moment of frustration, of reckless honesty. I hold it out to him, my pulse drumming in my ears.

He glances down at the page, and his eyes skim over the words: “I hate you so much that I can't breathe. I love you too.”

For a second, he just stares at it, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze lifts, softening as it meets mine. “Celeste…” he breathes, and the way he says my name—it’s like a confession, like he’s not sure he should be saying it at all.

My heart is in my throat, and before I can think it through, he reaches out. His hand is gentle as he brushes a curl away from my face. His touch is hesitant, like he’s testing the waters, and when his thumb grazes my lower lip, I can’t help but suck in a breath.
The air is thick and heavy as his fingers lingers against my skin.

He leans in, and his lips brush against mine in the lightest of kisses—barely there, like a secret. But then his mouth presses deeper, hungrier, and I kiss him back. Every nerve in my body screams that this is wrong, yet it feels like I can’t pull away even if I tried. Like I don’t want to.

I let him have me as I drown in the ocean of passion.

And just as suddenly as it begins, he pulls back, his breath uneven. His eyes search mine, filled with something I can’t read.

Regret? Fear? Desire?

“Go back to class, Celeste,” he says quietly, as if the words are an apology. “I’ll join you in a bit.” He steps away, and the warmth of his touch fades, leaving me cold and confused.

I hesitate, my pulse still pounding in my ears. For a second, I think he might say something else—anything to make sense of what just happened. But he doesn’t. So, I turn and walk back into the hallway, my heart racing, my lips tingling from the kiss.

As I step out of the storeroom, my pulse is still thrumming in my ears. I barely make two steps before I freeze. Mrs. Dolton, the principal, is walking toward me with her sharp heels clicking on the floor. Beside her is a new teacher—a woman I’ve never seen before, with eyes like steel and an expression that makes my stomach twist.

I duck my head and keep moving, hoping I look like just another student coming back from the bathroom. Mrs. Dolton doesn’t seem to notice me, too caught up in her conversation. But the new teacher’s gaze flicks toward me for just a moment, her eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure something out.

I slip back into the classroom, my hands shaking as I push the door open. Roxana is reading aloud, her voice filling the room, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I hurry to my seat and sink into it, barely aware of my surroundings.

The door opens again, and Mrs. Dolton steps in, followed closely by the new teacher. The class stands up to greet them. “Good afternoon, ma,” we all mumble in unison.

“Good afternoon,” Mrs. Dolton replies, her eyes scanning the room. “Where is Mr.—”

Before she can finish, Mr. Dominic walks in, a casual, almost too-casual smile on his face. “Sorry about that,” he says, running a hand along his jawline. “I had to step out for a moment.”

His tone is steady, but when he glances my way, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something that makes my skin prickle with the memory of the storeroom.

Mrs. Dolton doesn’t seem to notice, though. “This is Mrs. Harlow,” she says, gesturing to the new teacher. “She’ll be joining us as a substitute for the next few weeks.”

A murmur spreads through the class, but my gaze stays fixed on Mr. Dominic. His posture is too rigid, his jaw clenched just a little too tight. When Mrs. Harlow’s eyes meet his, it’s like a silent conversation passes between them—one that I’m not a part of but desperately want to understand.

Mrs. Dolton’s voice pulls me back. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to have a word with Mr. Dominic.”

My stomach twists as they step out together, leaving Mrs. Harlow in charge. She sweeps her gaze across the room, finally landing on me. Her smile is polite, but there’s something off—like she knows more than she’s letting on.

“Let’s continue where Mr. Dominic left off,” she says, her voice smooth and measured.

I try to focus, but my thoughts are spinning out of control. Did Mrs. Harlow see us in the storeroom? Is she here to watch me, or is it him she’s keeping an eye on? And what exactly is Mrs. Dolton talking to Mr. Dominic about?

I tap my pen nervously against my notebook, questions buzzing in my head like angry bees. Whatever’s happening, it feels like something is unraveling—something bigger than just a stolen kiss.

And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to be caught right in the middle of it.