I knew I couldn't stay in there with her anymore. Being in the same room as her, knowing that she was alone now and that I could finally act on my desires, was too much to handle. I needed to get out, to clear my head before I did something I'd regret. I walked into the living room, collapsing onto the couch, and burying my head in my hands. I had spent the last year and a half fighting against my feelings for Ina, convinced that she was taken. But now that I knew the truth, those feelings came rushing back a hundredfold. I couldn't deny it any longer. I wanted Ina, and I wanted her in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a professor to want a student.
I knew it was wrong. She was my student, I was her teacher. The age difference alone was enough to make it taboo. But as I tried to rationalise all the reasons why it couldn't be, my mind kept coming back to the same thing, she was available now. And the more I thought about it, the more the thought of having her, of making her mine, consumed me. I knew it wasn't a healthy way of thinking, knew it was bordering on obsession, but I couldn't help it.
I could still vividly recall the first time I set eyes on Ina. There was something about her that immediately drew me in, a magnetic pull that I couldn't resist. Whether it was her soft, chestnut-coloured hair, or the way her dark eyes seemed to hold a hint of mystery, I couldn't explain it, but I found myself captivated by her from the very beginning. I noticed from the beginning that Ina had a certain sorrow in her eyes, a deep sense of melancholy that she seemed to carry constantly. It was as though there was a heavy weight on her shoulders, something always bothering her, making her unhappy.
At first, I was puzzled by Ina's academic struggles. She was clearly intelligent, but something was holding her back. Part of me was frustrated by her lack of progress, but another part of me took some perverse pleasure in the fact that I would have more opportunities to see her in class. I started to make excuses to keep her back after class, to give her extra attention, to try and help her improve. But as time went on, I realized that my motives were becoming less about helping her with her studies, and more about finding reasons to keep her near me.
And seeing her day after day, observing her struggles and her quiet determination to try harder, only made me more drawn to her. I knew it was wrong, knew I should maintain a professional distance, but I couldn't help but look forward to seeing her every time she walked into my classroom. Every time she stumbled over a question, every time she looked at me with those sad, pleading eyes, it was like a knife to my heart. I wanted to erase the pain in her eyes, to replace it with happiness and confidence. But instead, I was stuck in the role of her teacher, a role that meant I couldn't do a damn thing about my growing feelings for her.
So I contented myself with these small moments after class, where I could talk to her, encourage her, offer her a bit of support. It was never enough, but it was all I could do without crossing a line I knew I couldn't come back from. I tried to tell myself it was for her benefit, that I was just helping a struggling student. But the truth was, I was falling for her hard, and these moments after class were the only way I could feed my obsession without being seen for the creep I was becoming.
Ina was oblivious to my growing feelings, or perhaps she just didn't care. Either way, she never seemed to notice the way I looked at her, the way my heart pounded every time she spoke or smiled. She was focused on her studies, on trying to pass my class, completely unaware that her professor was secretly, slowly losing his mind over her.
I knew I needed to keep it together, to maintain some semblance of professionalism. But the deeper I fell, the more difficult that became. Every day, she was all I could think about, her face and her voice haunting my every waking moment. I lived for those moments after the rest of the class had left and it was just her and me in the room. I would give her advice on her assignments, listen to her talk about her struggles, and all the while, my heart was screaming for me to reach out and touch her, to pull her close and tell her everything I was feeling.
I was determined to make Ina mine, to treat her like the beautiful, amazing woman she was, and make her forget about her worthless ex-boyfriend. I planned on pampering her, showering her with attention and affection, making her feel valued and loved, something she apparently hadn't experienced in a long time. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Ina was vulnerable right now, still raw from her breakup. She'd be hesitant, wary of getting hurt again. But I was prepared to do whatever it takes to show her that I was not like her ex, that I was worthy of her trust and love.
The question that plagued my mind was whether or not Ina would accept me. I was older, her professor, someone who she probably saw as a mentor, not a potential partner. I knew there was a chance she'd reject me, that the age gap and our professional relationship would be too much of an obstacle. But the thought of not even trying, of not fighting for her, was unbearable. I knew it would take time, that I'd need to go slow and earn her trust. But I couldn't let my doubts hold me back. I had to try, no matter how slim the chances of success might be. I loved her, more than I could ever explain, and I'd do anything to make her mine.