"The Gaze Behind Glass"
The Student:
It was late.
The hallway emptied like lungs exhaling dusk,
and I was still there
collecting my things
as if I needed an excuse
to stay in her orbit a little longer.
I felt it before I saw it.
That gaze.
Like velvet pulled taut.
Like something silk-lined,
but lined with teeth.
Through the thin pane of her office door,
she watched me.
Not like a teacher.
Not even like a woman.
Like a lioness might watch a fawn
that had wandered too close to the forest's edge.
She didn't look away
when I caught her
no flinch, no guilt.
Only her chin resting on her hand,
eyes half-lidded, dangerous,
as if she could already taste the end of me.
And I stood there.
Foolish. Curious.
Every inch of me warming
under her attention
like paper too close to flame.
I tried to move.
Failed.
She tilted her head,
as if daring me to come in.
Or daring me to run.
And still,
I stayed.
She didn't smile
but something curled at the corner of her lips,
something like possession.
It was quiet. Intimate. Condescending.
As if she knew I'd think of her all night now.
As if that had been the point.
She blinked slowly.
Deliberately.
And when I turned to walk away,
I felt it
her gaze didn't follow.
It held me in place,
wrapped around my back
like a shadow hand sliding beneath a dress
it had no right to touch.
She didn't speak.
Didn't call my name.
She didn't need to.
She knew.
She always knew.
And now I do, too.