chapter 7

Minji's pov

I stood at the front of the classroom, my chalk poised in my hand as I carefully wrote the formula on the board, the rhythmic scratching of the chalk filling the silence. Everything should’ve been normal, but I could feel something... off.

It started subtly. Just a few murmurs from the back of the room, followed by a soft, almost mischievous laugh. It was Abby, of course. That girl always had a knack for getting attention, for pulling people in with her boldness. But what made my grip on the chalk tighten was that Diana—Diana, who usually liked to annoy me in class—was laughing too.

Why was she laughing? I had never seen her this… comfortable with anyone. Not like this.

I could see the way Abby leaned closer to Diana, whispering something, her voice low and playful. And Diana… Diana responded to it. She laughed in that easy, carefree way that had always seemed so foreign to her.

I felt a strange tightening in my chest. It wasn’t jealousy—no, that wasn’t it. But there was something about the way they interacted that didn’t sit right with me. It wasn’t just the noise. It wasn’t the distraction from the lesson. It was how they seemed to fit together in a way that made me feel… disconnected. And that feeling, that frustration, made my pulse quicken.

Why did this bother me so much? It didn’t make sense. I was the teacher. I was the one in control. But in that moment, it felt like the balance had shifted, like they were drawing me into their dynamic whether I wanted to be or not.

I couldn’t help myself. I turned sharply, my eyes locking onto Diana and Abby. I felt a surge of authority rush through me as I spoke, my voice sharp.

“Diana, Abby,” I said, my tone icy. “If you’re finished with your conversation, perhaps you’d like to focus on the lesson?”

I saw Diana flinch, and Abby, always so bold, sat up straighter, clearly taken aback. But I couldn’t back down now. They needed to know—I needed them to understand—that this wasn’t the time for their casual games. Not in my classroom.

And then Abby, of course Abby, had to open her mouth, her voice dripping with mock concern.

“You sure you’re alright, Ms. Collins? You look a little… upset.”

Her words stung more than I cared to admit. I held her gaze, trying not to let the frustration I felt show on my face. Why did her words have such an effect on me? Why did I feel so exposed, so… vulnerable, in that moment?

I turned back to the board, the chalk in my hand snapping as I pressed it too hard against the surface. The sound echoed in the quiet room, and I took a deep breath, trying to regain my composure.

But the tension was still there, thick in the air, swirling around me. Abby and Diana were laughing again, whispering to each other, completely at ease, and I found myself unable to tear my eyes away. What was it about them? What was it about Diana?

I had been professional. I had kept my distance from my students, kept my thoughts locked away. But every time I looked at Diana, every time I heard her voice, I felt something stir inside me that I couldn’t control. And now, with Abby in the mix, it was even harder to keep my focus.

I wanted to believe it was nothing. That I was simply annoyed by the disruption. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. And as I stood there, trying to teach, trying to push past the knot in my chest, I realized something: this feeling—this unease—wasn’t going away. And that terrified me.

They were just two students, after all. But the way they interacted, the way they seemed to pull each other in, felt like something I couldn’t ignore. Something I didn’t want to admit was happening.

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I stood at the front of the classroom, my gaze scanning the room as I wrapped up the lesson. Most of the students were absorbed in their work, but I couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air, a heaviness that seemed to settle around Diana like a cloud. She wasn’t focused—not on the assignment, anyway. She was too busy, as usual, whispering to Abby, exchanging looks that made me feel like a mere spectator in my own classroom.

I had warned her, hadn’t I? I’d told her, more than once, that if she couldn’t respect the rules, there would be consequences. And yet here she was, still pushing my patience, testing the limits as if she didn’t care about the lines I’d drawn.

“Diana,” I called, my voice calm but firm.

She looked up from her desk, her face lit with that same mischievous glint I’d seen a thousand times. The same defiant smile. “Yeah?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as though she wasn’t the least bit concerned. Where was this boldness earlier in class when she was apologizing?

“I’ve asked you several times to stop talking during my lesson,” I said, stepping closer to her desk. “And yet here you are, still disrupting the class. That’s unacceptable.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but there was a faint flicker in her eyes—a challenge, an almost invisible spark of rebellion that made my blood boil. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Collins. Were we disturbing your lesson? I’ll make sure to pay better attention next time, promise.” Her tone was thick with sarcasm, the words dripping off her tongue like venom.

I fought the urge to respond to her with the same sharpness, but I had to maintain control. “You can save the sarcasm for after school, Diana,” I said, leaning forward slightly, keeping my voice steady. “You’re getting detention.”

She blinked at me for a moment, as if processing the words, before leaning back in her chair, arms crossed in that infuriatingly casual way of hers. “Detention?” she repeated, her lips curling into that ever-present smirk. “Really? Is that the best you can do, Ms. Collins? I mean, come on, detention? How original.”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm. “You’ll report to the office after school. You can either reflect on your behavior, or I can make it more of a productive session. The choice is yours.”

Diana chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as though she were humoring me. “Reflect on my behavior? Sounds fun. I’ll be sure to bring my journal, write some deep, emotional thoughts about how tough life is, and maybe a little poem about how misunderstood I am. You know, typical detention stuff.”

Her words were a slap in the face, and yet there was something undeniably infuriating about how little she seemed to care. It was like she was testing me, trying to see how far she could push before I cracked. But I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

I squared my shoulders, standing tall. “Diana, if you think this is a joke, you’ve got another thing coming. Detention isn’t a game. It’s an opportunity for you to understand the importance of respect, something you clearly need to work on.”

She rolled her eyes, her expression the picture of boredom. “Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Collins. I’ll be the model student in detention. I’ll even wear my best ‘I’m so sorry’ face.”

That sarcasm—infuriating as it was—only made me more determined. “We’ll see about that,” I said, my voice cold and final. “Now, gather your things. You’re dismissed—for now.”

As she gathered her books and stood up, I could feel her eyes on me, her expression unreadable but still full of that same defiance. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed, like detention was just another inconvenience in her day, something to be brushed off. And yet, I knew she would be there after school, forced to face the consequences of her actions.

She glanced back at me with that smug smile one last time before turning to walk out of the room, her movements slow and deliberate. “See you later, Ms. Collins. Don’t miss me too much.”

I didn’t answer, but the words were already settled in my mind.

The clock ticked away in the otherwise silent room as I sat at my desk, watching the minutes drag on. The day had barely ended, but I was already feeling the weight of the hours I’d be spending in this cold, lifeless classroom after school.

The door creaked open, and there she was—Diana Miller, looking just as unbothered as she always did, her usual cocky grin plastered across her face. She stood in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room, as if she were deciding whether or not to walk in at all.

I stared at her from behind my desk, my eyes narrowing. “You’re late.”

Diana shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, you know, I’ve got a lot going on, Ms. Collins. Hard to be on time for everything.”

Her voice had that familiar edge to it, the tone that always made it clear she wasn’t taking me seriously. She waltzed in, her steps slow, deliberate, as though she were savoring the power she held over the situation. I wanted to tell her to sit down and get to work, but something about her presence always seemed to make it harder for me to maintain my control.

“Take a seat,” I said, my voice a little firmer than before.

She picked the desk closest to the window, slumping into the chair with all the grace of someone who couldn’t care less about being here. She pulled out her phone, glancing at it briefly before putting it on the desk.

“Really? You’re just going to sit there and pretend like you didn’t just get called out in front of the whole class?” I asked, unable to hold back the frustration that bubbled inside me. “If you’re going to be here, Diana, you might as well act like you care.”

She rolled her eyes, her gaze flicking over to me with a look that was equal parts challenge and boredom. “Oh, I care. Don’t worry. I’m very invested in this whole process. Just... not as much as you’d like.”

I sighed and stood up, walking over to the whiteboard. The silence between us felt heavy, the air thick with unsaid words. I could feel her eyes on me, and I wondered for a moment if I had made the right call in giving her detention. Was it even going to matter to her?

I scribbled some equations on the board, trying to keep myself occupied, but the knowledge that she was still watching me, judging me, made my hands twitch with irritation. I knew she didn’t care. She never cared about the rules, about anything I said or did. She was a wild card—untamable, reckless, and yet... I couldn’t help but feel drawn to her in a way I shouldn’t.

Finally, I turned around, meeting her gaze. She was still sitting there, legs stretched out, completely at ease.

“You’re supposed to be reflecting, Diana,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Not making jokes. And definitely not on your phone.”

She glanced at her phone again, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I’m reflecting all right. It’s just a lot more fun when I can do it in my own way.”

Her tone was thick with sarcasm, but there was something more to it. Something underneath the sarcasm that I couldn’t place. It made me uneasy.

“I’m not here to entertain you, Diana,” I said, my voice sharp. “This is about learning how to respect the rules. How to be a better student. If you can’t manage that, then maybe we should extend this detention.”

She paused for a moment, her eyes flicking to mine with a slight narrowing of her gaze, but then she shrugged, her posture relaxed. “Fine. I’ll reflect. Just… don’t expect me to get all deep about it.”

I watched her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. I wanted to push her, to demand that she take this seriously. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t work. Diana wasn’t the type of person who could be forced into anything.

With a sigh, I went back to my desk, sitting down and keeping my gaze on her. Maybe, just maybe, if I gave her the space she needed, she’d surprise me.

But then, Diana did something I wasn’t prepared for.

She picked up her phone again, and instead of texting or scrolling through social media, she typed out a note—one of those classic, "What’s wrong with me?" kind of notes—and then turned it toward me, just enough for me to see the words.

It was sarcastic, of course.

"Dear Ms. Collins,

I’m really sorry I distracted you. Please let me know if you need help reflecting. I’d be happy to write you a whole essay on how great I am at following rules and how much I love chemistry. Yours sincerely, Diana."

I stared at the note for a long moment, trying not to let the sudden rush of emotions take over. There it was—her defense mechanism. A joke to cover up whatever vulnerability she had, the real reason she didn’t want to admit she was in trouble.

I couldn’t help it—I chuckled. A small, quiet sound that I quickly suppressed. Diana’s sarcasm was her shield. I knew that. But somehow, it didn’t make me angry. Instead, it made me want to break through that tough exterior of hers, to figure out what lay beneath it.

But not today. Today, she would sit in detention. And maybe tomorrow, I would get the answers I was looking for.

For now, I turned back to the board. “I’ll give you credit for trying, Diana,” I said quietly, my voice softer than I intended. “But we both know that’s not going to work.”

She met my gaze, her smirk returning, but this time it was different. “We’ll see, Ms. Collins,” she said, the challenge still in her eyes, but something else lingering there, too.

Alisa walked away, and I remained behind, gathering my things slowly. My thoughts swirled around the day’s events—Diana’s detention, her defiant attitude, and the strange tension between us that seemed to grow with each passing day. I couldn’t help but think of how she seemed to challenge me at every turn, as if she knew exactly how to get under my skin.

I walked out of the classroom and down the corridor, my heels clicking on the polished floor, echoing through the otherwise empty hallways. It was a brief, peaceful moment before I reached the front doors of the school, and I felt the weight of the day begin to lift.

As I stepped outside, the crisp evening air greeted me, the faint smell of the city mingling with the cool breeze. I moved toward my sleek, black car parked along the curb, the vehicle reflecting the last light of the fading day. A luxury sedan—smooth lines, polished chrome, the kind of car that was as much a statement as it was a means of transportation. Not that I minded. I had worked hard to get here, to build the life I had, and I enjoyed the fruits of that labor in the quiet, simple ways.

I slid into the car, the leather seats cool against my skin as I started the engine, the low rumble of the motor a comforting sound in the quiet of the evening. The drive home was uneventful, just the usual sights of New York flashing by—the glowing city lights, the crowded streets, the hum of the city that never seemed to stop.

Pulling up to my building, I let out a soft breath. My apartment was on one of the upper floors of a luxury high-rise, offering sweeping views of the skyline. The building itself was the kind of place where silence was expected, where neighbors barely spoke to one another. The life I had built for myself felt like the culmination of years of effort—strict boundaries, careful decisions, a successful career.

I parked and grabbed my things from the passenger seat, taking the elevator up to my floor. The lobby was quiet, as usual, the soft lighting giving everything a clean, almost clinical feel. The building was luxurious without being ostentatious, a reflection of my tastes—elegant but reserved.

As I walked down the hall toward my door, I felt a slight twinge of unease. Something about the day hadn’t sat right with me—something in the way Diana’s presence lingered, the strange connection between us that I couldn’t quite shake. I had my rules, my boundaries, and I made sure they were clear. But with her, those lines seemed to blur in ways that unsettled me.

I stepped into my apartment and locked the door behind me, the quiet of the space enveloping me like a blanket. The view from my windows stretched out over the city, lights twinkling in the distance. I’d made it. I had everything I needed. But as I stood there, looking out over the skyline, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

The apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline stretched endlessly in every direction, glittering with lights against the deep indigo sky. I sat on my sleek, modern couch, the kind with clean lines and cushions that looked perfect but were just firm enough to remind you it wasn’t meant for lounging too long. A glass of wine rested on the marble coffee table in front of me, untouched, condensation trailing down the stem.

I told myself I was just winding down from the day, decompressing after another exhausting round of corralling students who couldn’t seem to take anything seriously. But my phone was in my hand, glowing faintly in the dimly lit room.

It started innocently—or so I told myself. I had been grading papers on my laptop, scrolling through emails, but somewhere along the way, my mind had wandered to Diana. That rebellious smirk, the way she always seemed to test me, push back, and linger just a little too long in my thoughts. And so, without thinking—or perhaps thinking too much—I opened Instagram.

I typed her name into the search bar, hesitating for only a moment before tapping on her profile. Her account was public, of course. Diana Miller didn’t strike me as the type to hide behind privacy settings. No, she was bold, unfiltered, and unapologetically herself—both in person and, as it turned out, online.

Her profile picture was her, of course, sitting on some beach, her face half-hidden behind oversized sunglasses. I scrolled down, my thumb hesitating over the first few posts. There she was, laughing with friends, her arm slung casually over a girl I recognized—Abby. There was something in her smile, something so carefree and effortless, that made me pause.

Her captions were laced with the same sarcasm she wielded in class, playful but biting. “Making bad decisions, as usual. #livingmytruth” one post read, a photo of her perched on a railing overlooking the city, the wind catching her hair. Another showed her at some party, a red Solo cup in hand, her gaze distant but confident. “Chemistry may not kill me, but Saturday nights might,” the caption said. That photo was older, and clearly not taken in New York.

I told myself it was harmless, just curiosity. Teachers needed to understand their students, didn’t they? How could I truly guide them if I didn’t know the world they inhabited? But as I kept scrolling, it felt less like understanding and more like something I couldn’t quite define. An obsession? No. Fascination, perhaps. A need to decode the enigma that was Diana Miller.

My wine sat forgotten on the table as I delved deeper, her posts pulling me into her world. It was reckless, I knew, crossing an invisible line I had sworn to uphold. But the more I saw of her life—the way she existed so freely, so carelessly—the more I felt that pull. That same pull I fought against every time she walked into my classroom with that maddening smirk.

As I reached the end of her feed, I put the phone down abruptly, the screen going dark. The silence of the room felt heavier now, pressing against me, reminding me of what I had just done. I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes and exhaling slowly.

What was I doing? She was just a student. A troublemaker. A defiant, infuriating, distracting student. I couldn’t allow myself to fall into this... whatever this was. But even as I told myself that, I couldn’t deny the truth: Diana Miller was more than a disruption in my classroom. She was quickly becoming a disruption in my carefully controlled life. And I hated how much I didn’t hate it.

Slowly, I take the phone back. My focus was entirely on the small screen in my hands. This wasn’t about Diana—not exactly. It wasn’t like I was obsessing over her, despite how often she seemed to worm her way into my thoughts. No, this was… curiosity. Professional concern, even. I was simply trying to understand her, to see the bigger picture.

That’s what I told myself as I scrolled through her Instagram page, thumb hovering over a tagged photo. Her friends, Chloe and Nora, popped up repeatedly—always by her side, always part of her little world. They seemed harmless enough, laughing in their group pictures, arms draped around each other, their captions full of inside jokes I didn’t understand. But then there was Abby.

Abby was different. Her name appeared often, almost too often. She was in countless photos with Diana—smiling, laughing, leaning just a little too close. I clicked on Abby’s profile, my chest tightening slightly as I opened her page. It was public, like Diana’s, and just as full of snapshots of their lives.

Abby’s photos were… telling. There was something in the way she looked at Diana in every picture they shared. Her eyes sparkled, her smile a little wider when Diana was in the frame. In one photo, Diana was mid-laugh, and Abby was watching her—not the camera, not anyone else, just her. The caption read: “My favorite person to annoy. #butyoustillloveme”

I stared at the image for a long moment, a strange unease creeping into my chest. The way Abby looked at Diana wasn’t subtle. It was clear, almost painfully so. She liked Diana—more than I thought. Abby was infatuated.

Why did it bother me so much? I couldn’t quite place the feeling. It wasn’t jealousy—not in the way one might think. I didn’t like Diana. I didn’t. She was infuriating, defiant, a constant thorn in my side. She made my job harder, made me question myself in ways no student ever had before.

And yet, seeing Abby’s affection for her—so open, so obvious—sent an unfamiliar sting through me. It was as if Abby had crossed some invisible line, claimed something she had no right to. Something I didn’t want, but couldn’t stand to see anyone else have, either.

I clicked through more of Abby’s photos, each one adding to the gnawing irritation in my chest. There were selfies of her and Diana, arms around each other, captions dripping with playful teasing. “She puts up with me even when I’m insufferable. That’s a real friendship, right?” one said. Another photo was just Abby, but the comments were full of Diana’s sarcastic replies. They had a closeness that felt… intimate. Too intimate.

I set the phone down on the couch beside me, leaning back and exhaling sharply. What was I even doing? This wasn’t normal behavior. Teachers didn’t sit in their expensive apartments, scrolling through their students’ social media, dissecting every interaction. This was crossing a line—a line I’d already crossed the moment I looked at Diana’s profile.

But as much as I wanted to stop, as much as I wanted to tell myself that this was ridiculous, I couldn’t shake the unease. Abby’s crush on Diana was obvious. And Diana? She was too oblivious to notice—or maybe too indifferent to care.

I picked up the phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen. It wasn’t jealousy, I told myself. It couldn’t be. This was just about control. About understanding why Diana made me feel so unsteady, why she seemed to dismantle every carefully built wall I had.

But deep down, I couldn’t ignore the truth creeping into my mind. Abby’s feelings didn’t matter to me because I was a teacher or because I cared about professionalism. They mattered because, somehow, in some inexplicable way, Diana mattered. And that was a truth I wasn’t ready to face.

The house was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. I sat at the edge of the couch, the moonlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting streaks of silver across the hardwood floor. My hands rested on my knees, and I stared at the floor, barely noticing the sleek lines of the designer rug beneath my feet.

It had been a week. About 9 days since Diana Miller had walked into my classroom with her bold attitude and that maddening smirk. Nine days since she challenged me in front of the class, turning every word I said into a game she was determined to win. Nine days since she became the constant, irritating presence in my thoughts.

And now, sitting alone in the stillness of my home, I found myself grappling with a truth I didn’t want to admit. There was something about her—something I couldn’t name, couldn’t explain—that had taken root in my mind and refused to leave.

It didn’t make sense. She was a student. A troublemaker. The kind of person who lived to test boundaries, to push buttons. I’d dealt with students like her before—plenty of them. But Diana was different. There was something in the way she carried herself, so unbothered by authority, so unapologetically herself, that drew my attention in a way I couldn’t ignore.

And that terrified me.

I pressed my hands against my face, exhaling sharply. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. I had rules—strict, unyielding rules that I lived by. Boundaries that I didn’t cross. My career, my reputation, my life—I had worked too hard to build everything I had, and I wasn’t about to let one defiant student throw it all into chaos.

But then I thought about her laugh, the way it rang out in the classroom, unrestrained and full of life. I thought about the way her sarcasm seemed to mask something deeper, something I couldn’t quite reach but wanted to understand. And I thought about the way she looked at me—bold, unflinching, as if she knew exactly how to unravel me without even trying.

I hated it. I hated how much space she was taking up in my mind. How a single week of knowing her had left me questioning everything I thought I knew about myself.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered to the empty room, my voice sharp and cutting through the silence. “It’s just... irritation. She’s a student. She’s insubordinate. That’s all it is.”

But even as I said the words, I didn’t believe them.

What scared me the most wasn’t the fact that I was thinking about her. It was the way those thoughts refused to leave. The way they lingered, twisting and turning in my mind, no matter how much I tried to push them away.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about a student. Not about anyone. I had built my life on control, on discipline, on keeping emotions at arm’s length. And yet, in just nine days, Diana Miller had managed to undo all of that.

I stood abruptly, pacing the room, my steps echoing softly against the floor. Maybe this was just a phase—a fleeting moment of confusion that would pass as quickly as it had come. Or maybe it was something deeper, something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

Either way, I needed to figure it out. Because whatever this was—whatever she was—it was pulling me into dangerous territory. And if I wasn’t careful, it would consume me entirely.