Episode 8: “The Morning After”

 Episode 8: “The Morning After”

Sunlight spilled across the bed like a spotlight, warm and golden, casting soft shadows on Jiva’s bare skin.

Alex woke first. He always did. Years of early lectures and late-night grading had trained him into a rhythm. But today, he didn’t move. Not right away.

Because she was still there.

Curled on her side, her dark hair messy against the pillow, her breathing soft and even. One leg was draped over his, her hand resting on his chest like it had always belonged there.

She looked peaceful. Young.

Too young, his mind reminded him. But his heart didn’t care.

He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She stirred but didn’t wake.

God, what was he doing? He was forty-six. A tenured professor. She was eighteen. His student.

But she wasn’t just a student to him anymore. She was the one who saw through him—who made him feel alive again. Not like a man fading into middle age. Not like some distant academic figure.

With her, he felt dangerous. Desired. Needed.

He kissed her forehead softly. “Wake up, little one.”

Jiva mumbled something unintelligible, her face burrowing against his chest.

Alex chuckled. “You’re adorable when you pretend you’re not awake.”

“I’m not pretending,” she grumbled. “I’m just refusing reality.”

He pulled the covers higher around her. “Then stay. Just for today.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

“No classes. No campus. Just us.”

A lazy smile spread across her face. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“You’re already in trouble,” he murmured, running his hand along her thigh. “You just don’t know how deep yet.”

Breakfast was clumsy and perfect.

Alex, still shirtless in sweatpants, scrambled eggs while Jiva sat on the counter in one of his button-down shirts—three sizes too big, the hem brushing her thighs.

“You actually cook?” she teased.

“I actually do,” he said, flicking pepper into the pan. “Just don’t ask me to bake. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Noted. So we’ll survive on eggs and wine.”

“And coffee.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

He set a steaming mug in front of her. Their fingers touched.

Something unspoken passed between them.

Last night hadn’t been just sex. They both knew it.

This—sharing breakfast, laughing in the kitchen—this was intimacy.

And it terrified them both.

After breakfast, they retreated to the couch.

Jiva nestled into his side, legs tucked beneath her. Alex pulled a blanket over them.

They talked. About books. About music. About their childhoods.

She told him about growing up in a small town, feeling like she didn’t belong.

He told her about the years he wasted in loveless relationships and how academia became his only comfort.

“I used to think falling in love was overrated,” he admitted.

Jiva looked up at him. “And now?”

He didn’t answer. Just kissed her.

The knock at the door shattered everything.

They froze.

One knock. Then two. Insistent.

Jiva sat up. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.” Alex’s voice was sharp. Alarmed.

Another knock.

He stood quickly, grabbing a shirt from the floor. Jiva vanished down the hallway.

He opened the door slowly.

And stared.

“Claire?”

The woman standing on his doorstep was elegant, mid-thirties, with piercing eyes and a trench coat. She crossed her arms.

“Don’t look so surprised, Alex.”

He stepped outside, pulling the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in town. Thought I’d check in.”

Claire. His ex. A former colleague. Sharp, strategic, manipulative. The only woman who ever came close to figuring him out—until Jiva.

She leaned against the porch rail. “I heard about your little scandal brewing on campus.”

His blood ran cold. “What scandal?”

“Oh, come on. You know how rumors spread. You and that pretty little student of yours?”

Alex didn’t respond.

Claire smirked. “Relax. I didn’t come here to blackmail you.”

“Then why?”

She shrugged. “Curiosity. Maybe a little nostalgia. Maybe a warning.”

“A warning?”

“You know how this ends, Alex. You fall too hard, get careless, and it all crashes down. You always did have a weakness for broken things.”

His fists clenched. “She’s not broken.”

“No. But you are. And if you drag her down with you, I won’t be the only one watching.”

She turned to leave. “Take care of yourself. And her—if you can.”

Inside, Jiva stood in the hallway, heart pounding.

She had heard enough.

Alex returned, closing the door like it hurt.

“Who was that?”

He didn’t lie. “An ex. Claire. She knows.”

Jiva nodded. “So it begins.”

He crossed the room in two steps and cupped her face. “Let them talk. Let them whisper. I don’t care. I’m not giving you up.”

Her eyes softened. “Even if it costs you everything?”

“It already has.”

And when he kissed her again, it wasn’t like before.

It was a promise.

End of Episode 8

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