Celeste

During the break, I linger by the staff room, heart racing. Mr. Dominic will step out any moment now, and I just need a second with him. Not much—just enough to breathe the same air and maybe hear him say something. Anything. Finally, the door creaks open, and there he is. A smile sneaks onto my lips as he walks out, his footsteps quick and deliberate. Then he spots me. We stand there, a few feet apart, our eyes locking like they have their own secrets. My chest tightens, and I feel the tension building, but before I can say a word, the worst happens.

“Mr. Dominic, wait up!” Hayvin, Yara, and Aria rush past me, shoving each other for space near him. They pull out their English textbooks like trophies.

“Please, sir, I don’t understand this topic on transitions,” Hayvin pleads.

“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Harlow?” he replies, eyebrows pinched with irritation.

“No teacher explains phonics like you,” Aria adds with a pout.

“She’s busy with another class,” Yara chimes in, her voice laced with urgency.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine. Let’s head to your class.”

They cheer like they’ve won the lottery, clutching his arms, but he shakes them off gently.

I watch them disappear down the hall, their laughter fading behind them. My heart sinks. It feels like I’ll never get a moment alone with him. Mrs. Harlow’s footsteps approach, snapping me out of my thoughts. I have no choice but to head home, carrying the weight of unspoken words.

---

The next day, the school auditorium buzzes with tension as we settle in for our English exams. Mr. Dominic walks through the rows, distributing our scripts. When he reaches my table, our eyes meet. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to look away. My hand trembles, and my script flutters to the floor. He bends to pick it up, his fingers brushing the edge of my desk.

“Focus on your paper,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I nod, keeping my eyes glued to my desk. It’s impossible to concentrate, knowing he’s so close yet so far. And then there’s Calvin, sitting across the auditorium, his gaze heavy on me. I’ve been avoiding him since Saturday—since his confession.

After submitting my script, I rush out, but Calvin catches up to me.
“Celeste!” he calls, his voice cutting through the chatter of students.
Reluctantly, I let him guide me to a quiet corner. We sit, the silence between us thick and uncomfortable.

“About last weekend…” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for saying no. I know it wasn’t the answer you were hoping for, but you’ll always be my friend.”

He nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “You know, when that guy snatched your bag the other day, I thought about chasing him. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?” I frown, confused.

“Because I knew who it was,” he says, his grey eyes narrowing. “It was Mr. Dominic, wasn’t it?”

My heart skips a beat, and I grip my books tighter, my mind racing.
“I recognized him,” Calvin continues, his voice steady. “From his height to his shoes... even his cologne. It all clicked. He’s the guy, isn’t he? The one you’re crazy about.”

I look away, unable to meet his gaze.
“It’s okay,” Calvin says, his tone softer now. “He probably feels the same way about you. The other day, when you fainted in class, he was the one who carried you to the clinic. He asked me not to tell you.”

“What?” I whisper, stunned.

“I thought you knew,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The way he looked at you, the worry on his face... it was like nothing else mattered.I couldn't even lift you that day, he asked me to stay behind.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Calvin says, his voice thick with emotion. “I just wish I’d told you how I felt sooner. Maybe back in tenth grade. You’ve always been the one, Celeste.”

The guilt is overwhelming, but his words are sincere. “Thank you,” I say, surprising even myself.

We spend the rest of the afternoon talking about our exams before parting ways.

---

That evening, I mark my graduation date on the calendar in my room. Two weeks. Two weeks until everything changes. I cook dinner—plain white rice and stew—while my mind replays every moment with Mr. Dominic. His voice, his touch, the way he looks at me. I read through an old book he gave me, just to feel close to him.

The next day, I search for him between classes, my eyes scanning every corridor and classroom. Instead, a junior student pulls pass me to hug her boyfriend openly. They laugh and kiss without a care in the world. My chest tightens. Why can’t I have that? Why do we have to pretend like we’re strangers?

When I open my locker, a folded note flutters to the floor. My breath catches as I recognize the handwriting:
Let’s meet at our tutoring class after school.

Excitement bubbles inside me, but I force myself to stay calm. Kyomi appears out of nowhere, her usual bubbly self.
“Hey, senior!” she chirps, her boyfriend trailing behind her.

“Hey naughty?” my eyes rolls at her.

“You look moody. Wanna go shopping after school?”

“Actually, I can’t,” I say, stuffing the note into my pocket.

“Why not? You don’t have exams until next week,” she points out, her tone laced with suspicion.

“I’m busy,” I reply, avoiding her gaze.

“I wonder what's wrong with he her.”
She huffs in disappointment but doesn’t push further.

---

The biology exam feels like it drags on forever. Each tick of the clock seems louder, more grating, as if mocking my restlessness. I scribble the last sentence and glance up just as the bell rings. Without wasting a second, I gather my things and slip out, ignoring the curious stares from Hayvin and her clique. They’re used to my quiet exits, but today, their eyes linger longer. I don’t care.

My heart pounds as I make my way to the tutoring room, the empty hallways amplifying every step I take. By the time I reach the door, my palms are damp, and my chest feels tight.

Pushing the door open, I step inside. The room is quiet except for him. Mr. Dominic stands near the desk, flipping through a stack of papers. His tie is slightly loose, the top button of his shirt undone—a detail I shouldn’t notice but can’t ignore.

“I got your note,” I say, clutching the strap of my bag to steady myself.

He looks up, his expression unreadable, and nods. Pulling open a drawer, he retrieves a thick book and places it on the desk between us.

“These are SAT past questions from the last five years. I should’ve given you this earlier, but it’s not too late,” he says, his voice calm and measured.

“Thank you,” I whisper, taking the book from him. It’s heavier than I expect, much like the air between us.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.

“What’s wrong?” he asks finally, his tone quiet but laced with concern.

I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Nothing. I’m fine,” I manage to say, though my voice betrays me.

“Celeste,” he says, stepping closer. His tone is firmer now, yet gentle enough to make my defenses crumble.

Before I can respond, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over. I turn away, wiping my face furiously, but it’s no use.

“It’s just...everything,” I admit, my voice breaking. “The exams, graduation, my future... It’s all too much.”

I feel his presence beside me, his warmth radiating even though he doesn’t touch me. “You’re stronger than you think,” he says softly.

I shake my head. “I don’t feel strong. I feel lost.”

The words hang in the air, and I hate myself for saying them. For being vulnerable in front of him. But then, I feel his hand on my shoulder. The contact is brief, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to ground me.

“Celeste,” he says again, his voice steadier now. “You’ve changed a lot since we first met. You’re not that shy girl anymore who was afraid to speak up in class.”

I look up at him, my tears still flowing. “Maybe I have. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for what’s next.”

He brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch light but deliberate. “You are ready. You just don’t see it yet.”

For a moment, the world seems to pause. The weight of his words, his gaze—it’s overwhelming. And then, before I can stop myself, I lean into him, resting my head against his chest.

He stiffens for a fraction of a second before his arms encircle me, tentative yet comforting. His embrace is warm, steadying, and it feels like the only safe place in the chaos of my life.

But reality intrudes like a cold wind. I pull back, my heart racing. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, avoiding his eyes.

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Just...don’t lose sight of who you are, Celeste. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

The words linger as I gather my things and leave the room, my emotions a storm I can’t quite contain.

As I walk home, the questions claw at my mind. What am I doing? What happens next? And, most terrifying of all, what if someone finds out?

I don’t have answers, only the echo of his words and the unsettling truth that this is far from over.