diez

Ms. Hontiveros’ POV

It’s been almost a week since that night.

Since I lost control. Since I let Alice pull me into something I swore I’d never do.

Everything is fine—or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

Alice and I still talk. We still exchange glances in the hallway, still share quiet moments between classes, still linger just a second too long when no one is watching.

We’re okay.

But I am not.

Because there’s something I haven’t told her.

Something I don’t know how to say.

I’m leaving.

A quiet transfer. A decision made long before that night in the car, long before I let myself get tangled in something I should have resisted.

At first, it was just an option. A fleeting thought when the opportunity presented itself. But then—Alice happened.

And suddenly, leaving felt like the only choice I had left.

Because if I stay, I’ll ruin her.

And worse—I’ll ruin myself.

The Morning After

The bell rings, but I barely hear it.

The classroom is quiet except for the murmuring of students settling into their seats, Alice among them.

She doesn’t know.

She smiles at me—small, secretive, like she knows something no one else does. And she does.

She knows what my lips feel like against her skin.

She knows the sound of my voice when I whisper her name.

She knows how easily I fall apart when she touches me.

But she doesn’t know that I’m going to leave her.

She doesn’t know that every time I look at her, all I can think about is how little time we have left.

“Ma’am?”

Her voice pulls me back.

She’s watching me, head tilted slightly, brow furrowed in mild concern.

I force a small smile. “Yes?”

“You okay?”

I nod, too quickly. “Of course.”

She doesn’t believe me. I can tell.

But she doesn’t push. Not here. Not now.

Instead, she just gives me that look—the one that makes my chest tighten, the one that reminds me exactly why I need to leave before I do something even worse than what I’ve already done.

I clear my throat, looking away. “Let’s begin.”

And just like that, another day starts.

Another day pretending.

Another day counting down the moments until I walk away.

───

I don’t understand it.

It’s been almost a week since that night. And yet, nothing feels normal. Not really. Not when I see Ms. Hontiveros walking past me in the halls or when her eyes linger on mine, a flicker of something I can’t name passing through them.

I catch myself wondering why she’s been acting different. I never thought of her like that before—not until that night. But now... everything feels different. The way she looks at me, the way she touches me when she thinks no one’s watching, how her voice softens when she calls my name. It’s as if there’s this invisible thread between us that pulls me closer each time.

But then... she pulls away.

She’s been distant lately. I can feel it. Like she’s hiding something from me, something that she doesn’t want me to know. She’s always been professional—too professional to let things slip—but even I can tell when she’s not being entirely honest.

This morning, for example.

When I asked if she was okay, I saw it in her eyes. She’s not. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can feel it. I almost want to ask her about it, to demand she tells me what’s wrong. But something stops me.

What if it’s me?

What if I did something to make her pull back? What if she regrets everything that happened between us?

But then, I remember the way she kissed me, how she held me in the quiet of the night. She didn’t look like someone who regretted anything.

So why is she acting like this now?

Why does it feel like she’s trying to push me away when every part of me wants to stay close?

I glance at her again, my heart pounding a little faster. She’s looking away, clearing her throat, probably hiding behind that smile of hers. The one she uses to pretend everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.

And for the first time, I feel like I’m the one who’s in the dark, struggling to keep up with a game I didn’t know we were playing.

What is she not telling me?

I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me.

I catch myself staring at her, the way her fingers brush against the papers on her desk, the way her eyes flicker to the window for a split second before she looks away. She’s trying to act normal, trying to hold onto that professional barrier she’s always had, but I can see it. The cracks are there, small and subtle, but they’re there.

I wonder if she feels it too. The pull between us that seems to be growing stronger every day. I never thought it would be like this—like this thing we have could be more than just some fleeting moment, something we could laugh off and forget. But every time I see her, I feel it deep in my chest, a burning desire to close the distance between us.

But I don’t.

Because I’m scared.

Scared that if I step too close, if I make any move at all, she’ll push me away. Scared that I’ll find out what it means for her, this whole thing between us, and maybe... maybe it’s nothing like I imagine it to be.

Maybe she’s just trying to ignore it all, trying to bury the weight of what happened between us because it was a mistake. Because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

But if that’s true, why do I feel this ache in my chest every time she looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time? Why does it feel like I’m walking through the hallways and she’s the only one who matters?

I wish I could just ask her.

But I don’t. Because what if it’s not what I want to hear? What if I’m reading too much into it? What if she’s not feeling the same way?

So instead, I sit in silence, watching her from across the room, waiting for something—anything—that will tell me what’s really going on in her head. But she’s good at hiding it, too good.

And I wonder, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, if I’ll ever truly know the answer.