"Soft Ruin"
The Teacher:
She came to office hours again.
Didn't need to.
She knew that.
But she came anyway,
wearing that innocent uncertainty like perfume.
The door clicked shut.
And the room belonged to me.
I asked her what she wanted.
She said help.
I asked where.
She said she didn't know.
So I said,
"Let me show you what you need."
She sat across from me,
knees together,
hands folded
like a girl trained to behave
even when she's not safe.
I circled the desk.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Every step another answer
to a question she hasn't dared to ask.
She flinched when I leaned close,
but didn't move.
I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
She closed her eyes.
Poor thing
she still believes silence protects her.
I whispered how brilliant she is.
Told her she's special.
Unusual.
Needed.
She looked at me like I gave her a kingdom
and set her on the throne.
My voice dipped lower.
I asked her if she wanted to be better.
She nodded.
"Then obey."
Her breath caught.
I could feel her heart racing
a small bird
trying to outfly the wind.
I reached for her wrist.
Felt the tremor in her pulse.
No protest.
My touch lingered.
Not overt.
Not quite.
Just long enough to rewrite her sense of gravity.
I let her leave with a stack of books
and a mark she couldn't name
but would carry
everywhere.
And when she turned back at the door
eyes wide, lips parted,
she didn't say a word.
She didn't have to.
She's already mine.
And I haven't even kissed her yet.