"Julie hurry up!" My dad thundered from downstairs.
"We're definitely not gonna miss our flight again cause of you!"
"Coming!" I yelled back, while giving the house that held my childhood memories one final look.
I had just turned eighteen when my parents decided to rearrange my entire life without asking how I felt about it.
One minute, I was counting down the days to adulthood, imagining freedom and choices that were finally mine. The next, I was packing boxes, leaving behind the city that raised me, my friends, my favorite corners, and the version of myself that felt bold and alive. We moved to a quiet little town where everything felt muted and everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. Where the nights were too silent and the days dragged on like they had nowhere to be.
It felt like exile.
My younger brother adjusted easily, as children always do. My parents told themselves they had made the right decision. And me? I swallowed my resentment and followed them into a new school I never wanted to attend, one they insisted was "better" for me. From the first day, I hated it. The hallways felt unfamiliar, the people distant, and the rules suffocating. I promised myself I would keep my head down and count the days until I could leave.
Then I walked into literature class.
That's where I met Mr. Aiden.
He wasn't what I expected—not stiff or dull like the others. He spoke with warmth, confidence, and an ease that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. His voice carried stories the way music carries emotion, and when he talked about books, it felt like he was letting us into a private world. I noticed the way he smiled when he caught someone paying attention, the way his eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary.
When they landed on me, something shifted.
At first, it was innocent. I told myself that. I admired him the way anyone would admire someone brilliant and charming. I liked being noticed, liked the way he seemed to understand the thoughts I never said out loud. He made me feel interesting. Seen. Alive again.
Our eyes met—and he paused, just briefly. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Long enough for me to feel it.
After class, he stopped me."Julie, right?" he asked, my name sounding different in his voice."Yes," I said, suddenly aware of my hands, my breath, the way my heart betrayed me."You have an interesting way of listening," he smiled. "Like you're reading between the lines."
I laughed softly. "Maybe I like what's hidden."
Something in his expression changed.
Small things. Innocent things. Conversations that stretched too long after class. The way he'd recommend books meant "just for me." The way he'd lower his voice when he spoke to me, like the world didn't need to hear.
One afternoon, I stayed behind to return a book.
"You don't have to rush," he said gently, while tapping my shoulder."I'm not," I replied, and surprised myself with how honest it sounded.
Silence settled between us—not awkward, but full. Heavy.
The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with tension. I pulled away a little "Need help with something?" I asked, hoping to reduce the tension in the air, my voice a little softer than I'd intended.
He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to the book he was holding, and I felt a pang of disappointment. But then, his fingers slipped, and the book tumbled to the floor, its pages fluttering open. We both lunged for it, our hands brushing as we reached for the same spot. I felt a jolt of electricity, and our eyes met, locked in a heated gaze.
As we knelt there, the book forgotten between us, I said in a very shaky and tensed voice "Oops!... You dropped this sir". He whispered, "I'm starting to think this was a setup." I laughed, my voice barely above a whisper, and he smiled, his gaze was so sharp as though it could pierce through my soul. "What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic," I breathed, my heart racing.
He chuckled, low and husky, and the sound sent shivers down my spine. "You're trouble, Julie."
I grinned, feeling a little reckless. "Only if you want me to be, Mr. Aiden" I purred, my lips grazing his ear as I reached for the book.
He froze, his eyes snapping to mine, and I felt a rush of heat. Slowly, he straightened, pulling me up with him, the book forgotten on the floor. "Game on," he whispered, his lips inches from mine.
I felt my heart skip a beat, and my lips parted, ready to receive my first kiss from the last person I expected; my sexy literature teacher.
That's how it started.
One evening, rain pouring outside, we stood too close in the empty classroom.
"This isn't right," he said, voice low, strained."I know," I whispered."Then why does it feel impossible to walk away?""Because," I said, barely breathing, "some things don't ask permission."
His hand hovered near mine. Not touching. The space between us felt electric, dangerous. When his fingers finally closed around my wrist—gentle, trembling—I felt like the world tilted.
"Tell me to stop," he said.I didn't.
He leaned in, his breath whispering secrets on my skin, and I felt my heart skip a delicious beat. His eyes locked onto mine, smoky and seductive, and I knew I was in trouble.
"You're trouble, Mr. Aiden," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. He grinned, that infuriatingly sexy smile, and my knees turned to jelly
"Is that a warning or a compliment?" he purred, his lips grazing my ear. I shivered,
"Both". I replied.
He laughed, low and husky.
The moments we shared were stolen and fragile—shared smiles, whispered confessions, the way his forehead would rest against mine when words failed. The intimacies were mind blowing, the feeling of his masculine body rubbing unto mine made my heart flutter.
But secrets don't stay buried.
When the truth surfaced, it came down hard and fast. No explanations mattered. No feelings were considered. Mr. Aiden was dismissed from the school, his career erased by a love that should never have crossed the line. I watched from a distance as everything fell apart, guilt sitting heavy in my chest like something I couldn't breathe past.
I didn't get expelled. Instead, I was quietly removed—sent away to live with my aunt Clara, far beyond the country, as if distance could undo memory. As if miles could soften heartbreak.
But love doesn't disappear just because it's forbidden.
I left that town carrying more than shame and regret. I carried the ache of first love, the kind that ruins you gently and forever. The kind that teaches you that some connections burn too brightly to survive the world they exist in.
And even now, when I think of him, I wonder—not whether it was wrong.
But whether it was real.
THE END.