Chapter nine : Seth

It’s just tutoring.That’s what I keep telling myself.She’s just a student.That’s what I’m supposed to believe.

But then there’s her. Nyla. And the truth is, nothing about her feels "just" anything.

It started with questions—simple math doubts, timed just before dinner. A call. Then another. Then again the next day. She always sounded a little breathless, like she’d hesitated before dialing. Like she was afraid of being a bother. But she never was.

She’d mumble, “Sorry for calling so late,” or “This one’s the last, I swear,” and I'd act annoyed, pretending she was interrupting something, when I wasn’t.

I was always waiting. And that... that’s where it started getting complicated.

She doesn't realize it, but she lingers. In the way she talks. In the way she listens. In the silence between her words. I could hear her flipping through her textbook, or sipping water, or scribbling down steps. Once, she laughed under her breath when she made a silly mistake. I remember smiling. I never smile on calls.

And then she started noticing me.

“Sir, you sound tired today.” “You didn’t eat, did you?".“It’s past eleven. You should sleep early too.”

Like she was the one worrying. Like I wasn’t the teacher here.

She called again last night. Voice soft. Apologetic. “I think I’m being annoying,” she said.

“You are,” I replied. “Now, what’s the doubt?”

She chuckled, and I swore the sound rested somewhere beneath my ribs.

Sometimes I catch myself staring at my phone longer than I should after her name disappears from the screen. The line goes dead, and so does the strange warmth in my chest.

There’s something embedded inside me lately. This feeling. Quiet but persistent. It won’t let go. It’s like standing in the middle of a storm and knowing it’s not over yet—just circling above, waiting to fall.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing to me. Or maybe she does. That scares me more.

I’ve taught a hundred students. Brilliant minds. Talented kids.

But she... she’s something else.

There’s something in her eyes—restless, like she's always running from something. Or toward something. I don’t know which. But I see it. Even when she pretends to be fine. I see it.

I’ve told myself a hundred times that it’s wrong to feel this. Unethical. Messy. Dangerous.

But when she looks at me like she’s trying to understand more than just formulas—when she listens like every word I say matters—it gets harder to remember why I built the wall in the first place.

Tonight, she called again. Her voice was softer than usual. Sleepy.

“I solved that problem you gave,” she said.

I didn’t answer right away. I was watching the rain outside, thinking about how her hoodie had swallowed her frame the other day.

“Oh,” I finally replied. “That’s good.”

She paused. “You sound weird.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Like… like you don’t want to talk.”

I sighed. “No. I just... I don’t want you skipping dinner again. You sounded tired today.”

There was a silence. Then a whisper:

“You noticed?”

I swallowed. “Of course I did.”

That’s when I knew I’d crossed something invisible.

Because the truth is, I notice everything when it comes to her.

And I think—I know—something is going to change. Soon. I feel it in my gut, like a tide pulling in quietly before the wave crashes.

Before we hung up, I said, “Good night.”

But what I meant was, please take care of yourself. And what I wanted to say was, I don’t want this call to end.

This is dangerous. This is something that should never happen.

I shouldn't feel this way. I shouldn’t even think this way. I am her teacher. She is my student. That’s all it’s supposed to be. That’s all it has to be. But lately... it doesn’t feel that way.

It feels wrong. Illegal. Unforgivable.

And yet, when I look at her—those deep brown eyes searching mine like they’re trying to read my soul, that soft voice, that messy hair falling over her face—I feel something twist inside me. Something in my chest pulls tight. It’s not just attraction. It’s something more terrifying than that. Something deeper. Something I can’t name.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. I shouldn’t be noticing how she bites her lip when she’s nervous, or how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's trying to focus. I shouldn’t feel proud when she solves a problem, or soft when she says my name like it’s not just a formality.

I need to stay away. But how do I, when I’m the one who has to tutor her?

I’m supposed to help her. Guide her. Be the adult in the room. Not someone who's silently unraveling every time she smiles like she trusts me.

Still... I can control this. I will control this.

I have to. I hope.

She wasn’t someone I expected her to be. The first day I saw her—standing beside Miss Lucy, arms folded across her chest—she looked clean, ordinary. But the more I noticed her… I mean, I don’t know her much. Just that she belongs to a well-known family. Her parents are rich. She owns almost everything.

And yet, she makes me feel something else entirely.

She’s nothing like Jessica. Jessica talks a lot about her life. But Nyla is quiet—silent in a way that somehow still speaks. Even when she says just one word, it feels like she’s shared a whole story with me. She never talks about her parents. She never talks about anything, really.

Last day, I tried steering our conversation off-topic—something outside the syllabus. That’s when I learned what she wants to be in the future. And then, she asked me whether I was happy with my job. Why I chose this path—teaching.

I told her some of my dreams, my ideas. And while I spoke, she stayed quiet—just listening, eyes focused, like she was trying to memorize every word. As if… as if my words meant something to her.

I wish I knew what was running through her mind. I want to know if my presence lingers with her the way hers does with me.

Do my actions stir something inside her—something warm, something fluttering?

Does her heart race the way mine does when I hear her voice over the phone?

I want to know what I make her feel.

But no matter how much I wonder, no matter what I feel— This shouldn’t happen.

It’s not supposed to.

It doesn’t matter how many thoughts curl around my head, or how often she shows up in the quiet spaces of my day. This… is wrong. This is a boundary that should never blur.

No matter what she feels—

and no matter what I feel—

I am her teacher. She is my student.

And that's the only line that should ever exist between us. Even if it breaks something inside me to accept that.

Most of the time, I act cold around her. Distant. Detached. I speak less. Never laugh. Never smile at her.

Even when she asks something—softly, hesitantly—or comes around the rooftop where I usually sit, I make sure I’m nowhere near.

Because there’s something stirring inside me, something dangerous.

Something I don’t want her to see. And I know it’s not something good for her to witness. So I stay hidden behind this mask of indifference.

If I act cold, maybe she’ll walk away. Maybe she’ll stop calling. Stop showing up.

Maybe she’ll stop… noticing me.

Even if the feelings don’t leave with her. Even if they grow in the silence.

I don’t know. I’m not sure. It’s confusing.